Ouroboros
by PennedFF
Summary: Dream-share is all about transformation: it can turn fantasies into reality and good people into monsters. Ana wakes up from a dream to find that she no longer knows who she is. The question is: is she better off not knowing? OC/Arthur, OC/Eames WIP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Ah, my second stab at an Inception fic. Fair warning to all- this will involve an OC pairing with a canon character (or two) and yes, there will be a love triangle. Expect mystery with a dash of angst, a possible Mary-Sue (a guilty pleasure, my apologies here) and guest appearances by almost all the people who you grew to love from the movie.

Please do read and review- I appreciate any and all comments!

**Ouroboros**

**Prologue:**

"Can it be done?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said. "But I think the true question is- _should_ it be done?"

"And what do you think?"

"No. We meddle with dreams far too much already. The mind is still uncharted territory, despite all the so-called advances of science. No, it should not be done."

"But you think it's possible."

"Anything is possible but not everything should be. That is what I think."

**###**

**Chapter One: **

She opened her eyes and winced at the shock of bright light. Without thinking, she reached up and pressed the palms of her hands against her now-closed eyes hoping to ease the sting, but then felt a sharp pain in her arm at the motion.

She cried out in surprise and jerked away but the pain intensified.

"Wait, stop moving- you're going to pull the IV out," a man said above her. His voice was mellow and deep and she felt hands pull her arms down firmly. She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.

"See? You've cut yourself."

A man kneeled beside her, his head bent down as he examined her arm. He had dark, slicked back hair and pale skin. She could feel his breath on her bare skin and his hands gently pressed down as he slid a needle out of her.

Dark red blood welled up from a small wound and she both heard and felt him huff in annoyance. He looked up at her then with narrowed eyes accusingly. He had a thin handsome face but it was marred by the expression of irritation; it made him look sharp and fox-like.

"You woke up early," he said. His frown deepened and she realized that he wasn't _angry_ at her, he was worried. In his hand was a cannula and he held it up. Next to him was a machine and she realized that she had been _attached_ to it.

"What happened? You had at least another hour left."

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head, taking in her immediate surroundings. She was sitting in a chair, soft and comfortable, and there was a man kneeling beside her, demanding answers to questions she didn't understand.

Something inside of her told her to observe first and not give her position, vulnerable as she was, away.

"The light," she said. Her mouth felt dry and she licked her lips, noticing the man's eyes look down at the movement. "It hurt my eyes and I-"

"Nasty little cut there. Are you okay, pet?"

She looked up at the sound of another man's voice next to her- British-accent and a deep, rumbling tone. Rough. A smoker's voice. This one was _thicker_ than the other man, broader in the shoulders and chest and he was tan with dark blonde hair. His full mouth was stretched in a wide smile and he raised his eyebrow, pale blue eyes bright and curious, as if waiting for her answer.

"She almost tore her vein, Eames," the dark haired man said… _Arthur_. "You call that okay?"

The blonde man's expression- _Eames- _hardened slightly though he kept smiling. "Thank you, Arthur, but I wasn't asking you, was I?"

She felt Arthur's grip around her arm tighten and she hissed without meaning to, jerking her arm out of his grasp and holding it against her chest. For the first time since she'd woken up, she felt afraid.

Suddenly, the reality of her situation became apparent and she felt her heart begin to race.

She looked around properly, turning her head side to side to take in all the details. She was in a large room- she guessed a suite in a hotel, from the plush but bland furnishings and impersonal artwork on the walls. On the other side of the room, another man- almost a boy really, was studying something on a laptop on a table littered with glass tubes and different colored liquids. He was bobbing his head to music only he could hear from a set of massive headphones covering his ears. He was very thin and tall and his hair was blonde and curly. Despite his stature, he had the rounded cheeks of a child and bright blue eyes.

Across from him sat a young woman on a couch. She had brown wavy hair and a sweet face, with a cupid's bow mouth. She was sitting crossed-legged with a book in her lap and when she saw her looking, the girl smiled and waved.

Everyone around her looked at ease. Even Arthur, who was still frowning, was relatively calm.

It didn't really help quell the rising panic though.

She felt her breath quicken and she forced herself to slow down, deepen each inhalation and slowly let it out.

_What do I see? What does it mean?_

The boy and his headphones. The girl with her book. They were students maybe. Teacher's assistants? However, despite their youth both were well-dressed and seemed indifferent to the elegance of their surroundings.

_Rich kids, playing with adults._

_We're babysitting? Guarding? _

But no, that didn't feel right either. There was a small scale model of a building on the floor next to the girl and a pile of long, rolled-up sheets of paper. Different colored pens and pencils were scattered around the room and on the whiteboard in the corner were lines and curves that seemed to depict a space that folded into itself.

The chemistry set on the table was professional grade and when she glanced up at the ceiling, she saw all the smoke detectors had been turned off.

_Curiouser and curiouser. _

Finally, she looked back at the two men beside her.

The one named Arthur wore a dark blue sweater over a buttoned down shirt, pressed gray slacks and dark brown shoes. Deceptively simple clothing, tailored for his build but interesting. The stripes on his shirt were multicolored and his slacks were patterned. Though he seemed young, there were lines around his eyes and his mouth that betrayed his age. Even on the floor, on one knee, there was a stiffness in the way he held himself that made her think-

_Military. Government._

_Former, because he's comfortable in his civies. He takes pleasure in them._

-and though he was slender, his arms were lightly muscled. He gave off the impression of a tight coil, ready to spring up when released.

_He's likely stronger than he seems._

"What happened?" Arthur asked again, slowly this time. His eyes were fixed on her face and she could tell when his worry began to deepen, to become something else.

"There was something wrong with the new formula, wasn't there?" His dark eyes flashed. "Why did you even volunteer for this? It's not your thing."

She ignored his question because she couldn't respond and looked up at Eames.

Though on the surface he seemed nearly the complete opposite of Arthur, there were similarities in his bearing that made her think he was also military. Whereas Arthur was crisp clean lines and small, curious features, Eames' clothing seemed tailored to clash and confuse, the details amplified to distract. At first glance, he seemed to be a man given to eccentricities and a low budget. But on closer inspection, the seams on his shirt and pants indicated they were bespoke and the garish watch on his wrist was real. Gold and vintage and well-cared for.

There was stubble on his cheeks but she could tell it was a cultivated look- there was a small, red cut on the side of his jaw that looked less than a day old. His shirt was unbuttoned to the point where she could see the hint of a tattoo at his collar and his hair was short but parted severely to the side.

_The look of an ex-pat. Smarmy and sly. _

_But it's all flash and surface, isn't it?_

Arthur and Eames.

They both were more than they seemed.

_Add it up then. _

_What do I see? What does it mean? _

These people were working, probably on something under the radar… maybe something illegal. Why else would they be in a hotel suite in the middle of the day, curtains half drawn and smoke detectors turned off? There was a newspaper on the floor next to her and though she couldn't read it, she knew it was in French and a paper cup on a low coffee table a few feet away had the masthead of a French bakery. Arthur was American and Eames was British, at least from what she could tell.

_International drug trafficking?_

She rubbed her arm again and felt a tug at her torn flesh. She was still bleeding and when she looked down, there was smear of blood on her hand. Drugs explained the chemistry set but not the scale models. Drugs explained the expensive equipment and clothes, the need for men like Arthur and Eames, but it didn't feel right.

_I don't feel ill. I don't feel giddy or high or… anything. Except confused._

_And afraid. Just a little._

"Hey," Arthur said. He reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. Concern was now alarm and he leaned in, seeming to study her eyes. "How do you feel? What's the last thing you remember?"

_The game's up_, she thought. _Time to show my cards._

"The last thing I remember," she said honestly, "was waking up."

"What?" Eames said. His smile disappeared and his expression became dark. He glanced at the young man with the headphones and then looked back at her. "Before that? You were only a level down, no? What happened?"

"A level down where?" she asked. "I think I must have been asleep. Where could I have been?"

She looked at Arthur again who seemed stunned. She knew he understood then and she wanted to apologize for the dawning look of disbelief on his face.

She spoke again, this time so that there was no doubt. "The last thing I remember, before this moment, was opening my eyes. Before that… nothing."

"Tell me your name," Eames said, in a low voice. "What's your name?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, willing down the growing panic in her chest. She shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Where are you?" Arthur said. His hand squeezed her shoulder. "Do you know where you are?"

In the background, she saw the girl stand up and she heard her book fall with a thump to the floor. She rushed to the boy and grabbed his arm and he looked up, startled, as he pulled off his headphones.

"In a hotel?" she said. The boy and the girl seemed to argue and the boy was shaking his head, his face drawn up in an expression of disbelief.

"Where? What city? What country?" The questions were asked urgently and she saw Eames move towards the boy, saying something in a low tone and pushing his finger into the boy's chest angrily.

_He thinks the boy did something. But he didn't, I can tell. His reaction was genuine, it's all in his-_

"Hey, look at me," Arthur commanded and she forced herself to look back into his eyes. "Tell me where you are."

"I don't know," she said. "Paris, I think? From the newspaper and the coffee cup and the outlets… I think we're in France. One of the more popular, well-visited hotels. Most places don't require smoke detectors so…"

She trailed off, bewildered. "But how did I know that? Do I travel a lot?"

It was Arthur's turn to ignore her question and he pushed on, undeterred. "What year is it? How old are you?"

"It's 2014. I'm…" She paused, struggling. The year was easy, her age was close. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue. "Twenty-nine. Thirty or thirty-one. Around there?"

_I don't know._

"Shit." Arthur's face seemed to crumple slightly and he ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the style. She wanted to reach out and touch him, tell him it wasn't his fault she couldn't remember anything but she didn't.

After all, she didn't know if it was true.

"You will fix this right the fuck now, Miron." She heard Eames' voice grow steadily louder and angrier. "She can't even remember her goddamn name! That wasn't one of the side effects you told us about!"

"I don't know what happened!" the boy said, distressed. His large, doe-like eyes glanced at her in supplication. "I will fix it but this was not supposed to happen! This was not my intention!"

He had a Russian accent and she could hear it thicken as he went on. _I vill fix it._

"If you tried to pull something, I'll find out and-"

"Eames!" Arthur stood up suddenly and whirled around to face the others. "Dial it down. You're not helping."

He ran his fingers through his hair again and glanced back at her. His face seemed to soften slightly and she felt oddly reassured. She didn't know him but there was something inside of her, perhaps a ghost of a memory that told her she could trust Arthur.

_He's a friend. A good friend. _

_He expects me to trust him. _

_He'll take care of things, _she thought suddenly. The fear she'd been trying to ignore seemed to lessen at the idea. _When Arthur's around, he takes care of things._

Arthur turned around and jerked his head at Miron.

"From this moment on you're working on figuring out what happened and how to reverse it, got that? You work on nothing else and you work for no one else. You understand?"

Miron nodded, glancing at her and then back at Arthur.

"She is a friend. I would not allow this to happen."

Arthur turned to the girl and sighed.

"Ariadne, call Greggori, tell him the job's his if he wants it. Ana's in no condition to extract and I'm dropping out. You can work with him and his team- they're good and they don't have an architect."

"Count me out too," Eames said suddenly. "Until she's better, where Ana goes, I go."

The air seemed to grow cold then and she saw Ariadne look at Arthur with wide eyes.

"That's not a good idea, Eames," Arthur said. There was a clear warning in his words and she sat up, suddenly feeling as if she had to get away. She put her feet on the floor and looked down at her shoes- high heels- wondering how quickly she could run.

_Can I get away? The door is at least twenty feet away and the windows are shut. _

"I don't think leaving Ana with you alone is a good idea either." Eames looked back at Arthur evenly. "Care to remind her what she said the last time you saw each other?"

She looked up, surprised at his words and glanced at Arthur. Arthur's mouth twisted down and though he stood tall and straight, with his shoulders back and chin up, she could tell that Eames' words had struck a blow.

"Guys, calm down," Ariadne said, walking between them. "You aren't helping Ana by talking about her like she's not sitting there."

Ariadne looked down at her and held out her hand.

"It's okay," she said. Her dark eyes were kind but shrewd. "We'll help you figure out what's going on. I'm Ariadne. The people behind me are Arthur and Eames and Miron."

She reached up and shook the other girl's hand. "Am I Ana then? Is that my name?"

Ariadne looked back at Arthur, seeming to ask a question without saying a word and he shook his head once.

"It's how I know you," Ariadne said, after a slight hesitation. "Come on, let's get a bandage on your arm and some coffee and we can-"

"Is this a dream?" Ana asked suddenly. "This can't be real, can it?"

Arthur looked as if he'd been slapped and Ariadne looked stricken. Only Eames looked back at her without flinching but on his face was an expression of regret.

"I'm sorry, pet," he said, in an oddly gentle voice.

"Ana, you're awake and this is real."

**###**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

"Fortunately, it's not a bad cut," Ariadne said as she closed the bathroom door behind them. "There was one time when someone actually did tear open one of his veins waking up from a job and he bled all over the place. He was new to dream-share though; it's hard to keep still after waking up. All you want to do is move."

Ana watched quietly as Ariadne walked past her and bent down to pull out a small case from underneath the long marble counter. It was a rather large bathroom, with gold-accents, thick luxurious rugs and a bathtub and shower stall. There was even a settee and table in the far corner.

_Ridiculous._

_What kind of work would require a place like this?_

Ana turned her attention back to Ariadne, who was pulling out items from the white case. She wasn't at all surprised to find it was a well-stocked medical kit. Ana stared at its contents- the scalpel, syringes, iodine, bottles of painkillers and clear glass vials of morphine, and tried not to think about why the people she was with brought such things with them on "business" trips in lush hotel suites. It clearly didn't belong to the hotel- it was too simple and neat, a contrast against the ostentatious surroundings, and the text on the labels were in English. Ariadne moved quickly and efficiently; she'd done this before and wasn't squeamish about it at all.

_Am I used to this? _Ana thought. _Am I like them?_

"I'll help you with that," Ariadne said. "Your cut, I mean. I know how hard it is to do that with only one hand."

She picked up a bottle of alcohol and opened it, pressing a sterile square of fabric against its opening and turned it upside down quickly.

Ana frowned. "I still don't understand any of it. Sharing dreams doesn't sound plausible. And someone being in my dreams, in my mind, like that… I'm really alright with it?"

"Arthur will tell you more," Ariadne said, lowering her eyes. Her cheeks flushed and she pressed her lips together in a thin line. In one swift movement, she turned the bottle right side up again and gestured towards Ana's arm.

"Now this is going to sting a little. I'm sorry."

Ana held out her arm dutifully and noted that Ariadne looked faintly distressed, though she didn't think it was due to the task at hand.

_She doesn't know what to do with me._

It was fair- Ana didn't quite know what to do with Ariadne either. Or anyone else.

_Are we friends or just colleagues?_

After a short conversation the group, except for Ana, had all agreed that it would be best to call other so-called "dream-share" specialists, the ones that could be trusted, for guidance. Eames told Miron to contact someone named Yusuf while Arthur would call someone named Dom.

Dom was an extractor, or had been until a few short years ago. But according to Arthur, he was still an expert and the best at what they did.

_An extractor._

She'd been an extractor too apparently. A part of her felt guilty because she knew that the job, whatever it was they were doing, was in large part dependent on her abilities. She wasn't sure what an extractor did or what it had to do with dreams but the way Eames had tried to explain it-

"_It's collective lucid dreaming. Think of it this way- someone's mind is a toy store and we get to play with almost anything we want there. And you get to take the most important toy in the store."_

-she wasn't sure she liked it.

"Are we criminals?" she'd asked then, half confused and half incredulous, and the fragile peace between Eames and Arthur seemed to snap at the question.

Eames had responded in the affirmative just as Arthur shook his head.

"_Oh come on, Arthur. Don't lie to the woman."_

"_She barely knows who she is- is that what you want her to think of herself? That she's some kind of career criminal? Because she's not."_

"_I didn't say she was but she should know-"_

"_No, we need to give her more time to-"_

"_To what? More time to be confused without a bloody clue as to who-"_

Ana had watched them, unsure of what to do. Eames had grown more frustrated and vocal and Arthur seemed to draw inwards, more still, as they argued. It seemed that Eames had wanted to tell Ana everything about herself whereas Arthur thought it was too much, too fast. He wanted to wait and see if Ana's memories would return on their own. Miron seemed to side with Arthur, which irritated Eames.

Ariadne had finally taken Ana away to the bathroom to deal with the one problem that could be fixed immediately. Ana thought she was the most practical of the lot.

She was drawn back to the present as Ariadne swiped carefully over the cut. It stung and she jumped a little but kept her arm out.

"Arthur takes care of the PASIV and I don't doubt he disinfects all the IVs," Ariadne said, almost apologetically. "But you know, you just can't be sure."

"No, I suppose not," Ana said. Ariadne gently wiped the ragged edges of the cut and Ana looked down at it. It wasn't bad but it wasn't pretty either. It would scar for a bit but probably fade.

She then turned her attention to Ariadne as she worked, noting details with interest. She wore a soft looking gray blouse underneath a cardigan, dark pants with boots and a brightly colored patterned scarf tied loosely around her neck.

_Simple items but still carefully chosen._

Ana realized it soothed her to watch people, to study them and draw conclusions from all the little bits of information presented before her. This was something she must have done a lot, she thought- it was something she _enjoyed._

"I thought you were a student at first," Ana said, blinking in surprise at the idea. Ariadne looked up, eyebrows raised in a silent question. "But you graduated a few years ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did," Ariadne said. She stared at Ana's face and tilted her head to the side. "What else? Tell me more."

"You're an architect by profession but you think of yourself as more of an artist. You like to dabble in sketch art and it helps you relax. You're American but you've lived here for a while. You might go back soon though… you're homesick."

The careful, guarded expression melted away and Ariadne smiled. She almost looked relieved.

"Even with amnesia..." she trailed off. She put the soaked fabric, now stained with blood, on the counter and shook her head. "Should I even ask how you knew that? Especially the part about… Well, the last part."

"Latent memory?" Ana said, but even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. "Maybe it's just something I know about you."

Ariadne made a face and Ana shrugged. "For all I know, I could be wrong."

"You're not. Ana, you're almost never wrong."

"Your clothes and your hair," Ana said. She gestured towards Ariadne vaguely. "Your clothes are professional separates but not tailored like Arthur's or Eames' clothing. Still though, the fabrics are of good material and the cut is better than average- you got your clothes here and not in America. The workmanship is clear. But they're well-worn; the knees are a touch lighter than the rest of your pants and the wrists on your sweater are a little frayed, so you've been here for a bit. You probably bought those clothes during your first year living here."

Ariadne nodded with a smile. "Close. I got them after my first year but that was a while back. Keep going. What about my hair?"

"You've recently got a haircut. Maybe just a trim- the edges are more blunt than they would be if you'd cut your hair a month or two ago. People don't usually get their hair cut in a city they don't live in and if it's a trim then you probably have a stylist you trust here."

Ariadne touched her hair self-consciously and let out a pleased laugh. "Okay, keep going."

"Your fingernails are bitten down on your left hand and there's a callous on the middle finger of your right hand. There are smudges of lead on the side of your pinky. Most architects use CAD programs, don't they? The scale models are yours. The way you knew how to handle them out there told me that you knew just where to grip in order not to ruin the designs. You draw with a pencil or charcoal stick with your right hand and bite down on your fingernails on your left hand. I'm guessing here but if you were working while sketching, you'd use a table instead of your hand to balance a pad. The model was very precise."

"Yeah, I do that."

"The nail biting… it's a new thing. Or maybe something that pops up when you're stressed. You don't have hangnails and the skin around your nails isn't badly chewed up. And you only do it on one hand."

"So the homesickness?"

"I guessed," Ana said truthfully. "You were reading a book. When we walked past it, I looked down at the spine and saw 'Property of Ajax Kormos" written on it in marker. The pages looked well-loved."

Ana paused, thinking, and shrugged again. "I'd say it was your brother's book. Ajax and Ariadne. Greek. Some parents like having their children's name match and Ajax and Ariadne are very classic names. Anyway, it's an old book, heavy enough to be a nuisance and if you live here, you could have left it at home but instead you brought it with you."

"I'm never not amazed when you do that," Ariadne said. She closed the supplies kit with a faint smile.

"I just… it seemed obvious," Ana said. She suddenly felt extremely tired and let out a sigh, all the pleasure from the little game fading quickly. "Do I do that a lot? You make it sound as if it's a thing with me."

_What kind of person am I, that I would build assumptions on such small details?_

_What kind of person would need to in dream-share?_

"Well it kind of is your 'thing'," Ariadne said, making quotes with her fingers. "But you're an extractor so I suppose that's why you'd be so observant. Eames is good at _becoming_ people but you're good at _seeing _people. It's what makes a good extractor."

"And what do extractors do?" Ana asked. "I could hazard a guess but..."

Ariadne's face shifted and Ana could almost feel her draw back a little. She turned around and locked the kit again before putting it back underneath the counter.

"Arthur or Eames will tell you," she said. "It's not really my place."

Ana suddenly remembered that the two men were still arguing outside the door but their voices seemed more subdued, less heated than earlier. She turned to face Ariadne, meaning to demand answers but she caught her reflection in the mirror.

_Oh._

Ana froze.

She hadn't considered what she looked like although she had taken a quick look down at her own attire. The shock of seeing her face, for what felt like the first time ever, was more than a little startling.

_Stupid. It should have been the first thing I did._

She had dark hair, darker and longer than Ariadne's, and her eyes were a pale blue or gray color. She was nearly a full head taller than the other girl and her features were delicate and feminine though the surprised expression she wore at the moment seemed to make her look almost comical. She wasn't daintily pretty like Ariadne but she knew without any false modesty that she was someone who probably received a fair share of attention.

Ana felt faint_._

It was like looking at a stranger.

It didn't look at all familiar.

It was the most _horrible_.

Ariadne looked up at the mirror and whirled around, grabbing Ana by the arms. She suddenly realized that she'd almost collapsed, her legs feeling weak and bloodless underneath her. Ariadne gripped her tightly, keeping her upright.

"That's me, isn't it?" Ana said, staring at the face in the mirror. It looked back at her, mouth twisted in disgust. She reached up and touched her cheek and the stranger did the same. "That's what I look like, that's me? I didn't remember that, I didn't…"

_How could I not remember what I look like?_

"Ana, you're okay, don't freak out, it will be-"

_How could I not remember my own face?_

"-okay. Ana, come on, we'll fix this, it's probably temporary, it's probably-"

_Who am I? Why am I here? Who the hell are these people?_

"-just a side effect so you don't have to worry."

_Why can't I remember?_

"Arthur!" Ariadne cried out. "Eames! She's freaking out!"

The sound of loud, hurried steps came and the door burst open. Arthur seemed to fly into the bathroom with Eames right behind him, close as a shadow.

Ana didn't care about any of them. She was suddenly utterly terrified.

She shook off Ariadne's grip and hurled herself at the mirror with her hands out before the others could stop her.

_What if I never remember? What if every time I look at myself, I see a stranger?_

_I can't live like this._

She felt the mirror crack under her fists, felt sharp edges dig into her yielding flesh and she hit the surface again, wanting to destroy it. It was irrational and utterly senseless but Ana felt compelled to destroy the thing she saw in the mirror. She wanted it to fall to pieces, needed the destruction to happen _right now_ because she knew that if she had to look at her face, that strange, alien reflection that apparently belonged to her, she'd go mad.

But before she could land another blow, Ana was shoved backwards and then pushed down onto the floor. She instinctively put her hands to the side to keep from landing on her back and uttered a cry when she felt shards of glass cut deeper into her palms.

"Jesus, fuck, stop it!" Arthur yelled into her face. This time he was furious with her, there was no mistaking that. "What the hell was that, Ana? What the hell were you trying to do?"

His eyes were wild and slightly crazed and he looked ready to snap, his body taut and nearly vibrating with tension. His hands were like vices on her shoulders and when she tried to sit up, he pushed her back down.

"I don't know! It just happened and I don't know," she babbled, looking up at his angry, hard face. "I looked… I was just… I didn't know, I didn't know who I was!"

"Easy there," Eames said, putting one hand on Arthur's arm. He squeezed, digging his fingers into Arthur's arm. "She was scared, Arthur, and you're not doing anything to alleviate that."

"Fuck off, Eames," Arthur nearly snarled and Eames narrowed his eyes. "And get your hand off me."

"Let go of her," Eames said quietly, and despite the distraction of shooting hot pain in her hands, Ana could hear the undercurrent of true danger in his voice.

Her heart beat like it was trying to force itself out of her chest and she drew in a shuddering breath, forcing the urge to cry back down. She didn't know why she had wanted to break the mirror. It came upon her so suddenly, the overwhelming sensation of hate and fear at the face that looked back at her- she was almost helpless to stop the reaction.

And now she was paying for it. She tried to curl her fingers inward and agony shot up her arms in retaliation.

"Arthur, she's bleeding pretty badly," Ariadne said. She was very pale and her small, delicate hands were shaking badly. "I can't fix that. She saw herself in the mirror and… I can't fix the bleeding, Arthur."

Ana thought it was Ariadne's small, panicked voice that made Arthur loosen his grip on her shoulders. His dark eyes searched her face, his expression pained.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, sounding so confused that Ana felt ashamed. "What were you trying to do to yourself, Ana?"

"You didn't know who you were, did you?"

Ana looked up at Eames. He bent his head down and leaned closer, like they were sharing a secret.

"It scared you, your own face," he said, "because you didn't recognize yourself."

Ana nodded dumbly even though she knew that it was only part of the reason why.

"It's a form of auto-prosopamnesia," Eames said; his warm, steady voice was like a soothing balm over her frayed nerves. "Do you know what that means? It's the inability to remember faces- even your own. Sometimes forgers can be affected but it's usually temporary. It would make sense for amnesiacs to be affected as well. Especially ones who are in particularly stressful situations."

His mouth lifted up in a small smile and Ana stared at him, feeling calmer now that the indefinable thing had been named. His eyes flickered down and the smile faltered slightly.

"Now then," he said. "Let's look at those hands of yours, shall we?"

"Eames, don't," Arthur said in a low voice, the fear and fury now gone. His hands were still on Ana's shoulders and for the first time, she noticed that he was crouched down over her, his legs on either side of hers. "Ariadne, please have Miron call a doctor. Jessum is the closest one and he owes me a favor."

"_You_ call him," Eames said lightly. "If he owes you a favor, then he'll answer to _you_."

He reached down and gently picked up one of her hands. She let out a hiss even though he barely touched her bloody palms.

"It's only a few shards, no smaller pieces," Eames said. "I know it hurts but it's not as bad as it looks. Once we get these out, and your hands covered up, you'll be fine."

"Auto-prosopamnesia," she said. Her voice sounded faint and tremulous and she cleared her throat, forcing herself to concentrate on his words and not her hands or the fact that she was avoiding her reflection in the broken pieces of mirror on the floor. She heard Ariadne walk out of the bathroom and her voice was a soft murmur in the background. "With forgers. What's a forger? Is that… Does that have something to do with what we do?"

"Can you stand?" Arthur asked suddenly, cutting into her question and she turned to him in confusion. "Do you think you can stand up? Can you walk?"

"I think so," Ana said. "But-"

"Good," he said. He threw a challenging glance at Eames before looking back at Ana. "Let's wash you up and then go back to the sitting room. You'll need a few stitches but we can at least clean you up before Jessum gets here."

It sounded logical and she leaned forward, meaning to propel herself up. Before she could do so, she felt Eames slide an arm around her waist and pull her up in one easy move. With two feet on the floor, she swayed slightly and Arthur was there by her other side to steady her. She sagged against him in relief and for a moment, she wanted to pass out.

_It would be easier, _she thought. _It would be easy if I could just close my eyes and drift away again._

_And maybe wake up and remember myself._

"Ana," Arthur said. "Come on, don't do that. Keep your eyes open for me. Please?"

It was Arthur's voice, the odd pleading tone that gave her the strength to walk towards the sink. Eames turned on the water and tested the temperature.

"Put your hands under the tap," he said. She hesitated and he looked at her patiently. "It's alright. It will hurt but believe me, it will be worse if you let things stay the way they are."

_Is he talking about my hands or something else?_

She leaned down, trying to avoid the cracked mirror and couldn't help but wince when the water touched her skin. She almost jerked backwards but Eames kept her hand under the faucet so that she was forced to endure the burning, cleansing pain.

"Now the other one, pet."

They stood there silently for a few minutes and Eames carefully rinsed both of her hands while she leaned on Arthur for support. Both men seemed to understand her need for quiet and as she looked down at the blood making its way down the drain she thought about Arthur's wary, unhappy expression and Eames's small, private smiles.

_One is afraid and the other is hopeful._

_Something terrible happened and they're keeping it from me for different reasons._

It felt as if her stomach twisted, turned itself inside out and into knots inside her.

For now she had to rely on these people but she knew that only one of the two, Arthur or Eames, could truly be trusted.

She just wasn't sure which one.

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- **I'm flexing a bit of Eames' mental muscle here. Sometimes I think that he gets pegged as the boorish comedy relief but he's pretty smart. Sure, he's quick with the quips but he pretty much comes up with the entire plan in Inception. A few tweaks from Dom and others but the basis of the plan- the genesis, if you will, comes from Eames.

Case in point: "anti-monopolistic sentiments" is not a phrase that easily rolls off the tongue and yet he says it with such ease.

However, all this Eames-love does not mean I prefer him over Arthur. And with that…

**Chapter 3:**

The entrance of _Le Royal Monceau_ was both elegant and modern, simple and lavish, with a white façade and warm but dramatic lighting. A plush red carpet led the way into the hotel and doormen wearing cream and black uniforms greeted guests as they walked in.

Ana leaned her head against the car window and watched as men and women strolled down the street. Outside the parked car, people lived their lives and went on about their afternoon. Normal people with normal problems.

"Your hands… are you in pain?" Arthur asked beside her and she turned to face him. His fingers hung on the bottom of the steering wheel and she wondered briefly if the car had been her rental or his. It clearly didn't belong to them; the keychain only had the one key on it.

_So he doesn't live here but he knows Paris well enough to be comfortable driving._

"Yeah," she said, leaning back against the soft leather of the seat. Her newly bandaged hands lay on her lap. She felt exhausted, sore and not a little lightheaded from blood loss and endorphins. Arthur's contact, Jessum, had been a taciturn redhead who stitched her cuts close with quick, careful precision. He'd offered painkillers but Arthur, with great reluctance, had suggested that she pass.

"_Introducing something else into your system could be detrimental, Ana. It might make things worse."_

Though she knew Arthur was right, it didn't make the experience less painful. At first Ana tried to bite down on making a sound but near the end when Jessum was finishing up, she'd been reduced to soft whimpering. The entire process took less than twenty minutes but her blouse had been soaked with sweat by the time he'd finished.

Arthur had had to hold each of her arms still as Jessum worked and at one point she felt him press a tentative hand against her damp brow, pushing her hair back away from her face. It was only then that she realized that tears had slipped past her tightly shut eyes and when she'd opened them, he was looking back at her intently.

"_It's almost over. Just a few more, Ana. Keep taking deep breaths."_

Now, he was staring at her with the same sort of intensity.

"You should eat. I haven't seen you eat at all today," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "We'll get you back to… we'll get you somewhere you can rest. It's been a tough day."

"Understatement," she said. Arthur smiled slightly.

"I am prone to them," he said.

Ana shrugged and turned away. "If you say so. I wouldn't know, would I? I can't remember anything about myself much less about anyone else."

She shook her head. "For all I know you and Eames are going to take me away to a field in the middle of nowhere and-"

"We won't," Arthur said, with a sharp exhalation. "Jesus Christ, I wouldn't let you get hurt."

His voice faltered on the last word and when she turned back to him, she saw he was staring at her hands. It seemed to Ana that it took him a good deal of effort to look back up and meet her eyes.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you now but please. Trust me."

"The concierge seemed to recognize us," Ana said. "She'd seen us together before. I have to assume that I trust you on some level. But I don't think it's enough to be around you longer than I have to be."

_I _used_ to trust you. We _were_ friends._

_When you touch me, it's as if you expect me to push you away._

_Something happened between us which is why I didn't tell you where I was staying this time._

It was obvious to her that they weren't at the same hotel and it was likely that she'd arrived at _Le Royal Monceau_ before or after Arthur that morning. Based on what she knew of him so far, she didn't doubt that Arthur would take note of what she did in his presence- he probably did it with everyone he encountered. And yet-

_He's protective of me but he keeps his distance._

She watched carefully as Arthur flinched, the skin around his mouth and eyes tightening and he nodded once before turning away.

_That stung._

It begged the question then: if she didn't normally trust Arthur, then why was she there in the first place?

She didn't mean to hurt him but she needed to know where the boundaries were. After all, she was navigating only on her own observations. She had the pieces and could infer connections, but none of the underlying motivations were clear.

_I have the _what_ but not the _why_._

_Why am I here? Why am I with you? Why won't you tell me these things already? What are you waiting for?_

And the most curious of all- _Why do you look at me like that, Arthur?_

_Why does Eames?_

Before she could say anything, Ana heard a knock on the door behind her. She turned around and saw Eames looking down at her through the window.

"Well then, everything's all clear upstairs and Ariadne is currently charming the hotel manager out of what I'm sure is an exorbitant damages fee," Eames said cheerfully, as he got into the car. He closed the door behind him and leaned forward on the console. "Much as I hate working in abandoned spaces, it is more convenient when we make a mess, no?"

"Did you get everything?" Arthur said, ignoring Eames' comment. He looked out the window past Ana and studied the other hotel guests milling about the front entrance. "Wipe everything down?"

Eames snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oops, I left the PASIV upstairs. Of course I took care of things, Arthur. The device's in the boot, safe and sound."

He reached back and propped something up on the console beside Ana. "And I brought this along as well. It wasn't Ariadne's or Miron's so unless Arthur has tendencies we don't know about…"

It was a large brown shoulder bag with bronze buckles and clasps. It looked new and the smell of leather filled the car.

_Functional but well-made. Not a status bag but not one that would look inconspicuous on the arm of someone staying at this hotel._

_I bought this bag. It's mine._

_I didn't want to fit in, I wanted to _blend _in._

It was an unhappy idea.

Ana looked back at Eames.

"Thank you," she said.

For a moment he stared at her with frank appraisal before grinning widely.

"You're very welcome," he said. "And I do hope it's yours. We were in a bit of a rush so I'd hate to have accidentally stolen someone else's purse."

"It's her bag, Eames," Arthur said firmly. In a gentler tone, he said, "Ana, your hotel key should be in there and we should get back as soon as possible. Maybe the surroundings might trigger-"

"You think an impersonal room will actually create a spark of recognition?" Eames said, smile sharpening into something almost mean. "Be serious now, Arthur. She likely just checked in and dumped her belongings in the closet. She wasn't exactly bursting at the seams to be here."

Ana almost started at his words but remained silent.

_He's doing this on purpose. He's giving me hints._

Arthur turned the key and the car came to life. He glared at the road as he drove past the hotel valet and onto the busy street.

"We don't know what caused this so anything familiar may help," Arthur said. "There are too many variables right now to discount anything."

"Yes," Eames said, "but Ana's probably exhausted and hungry and-"

"I _know_ that, which is why we're-"

"Stop," Ana said. "Please. Stop."

She didn't want to hear them bicker anymore and her head was beginning to hurt. It made her uneasy to know the two people she had to depend on at the moment didn't get along and despite Arthur's earlier words, she knew that both men probably had their own interests at heart.

Arthur and Eames fell silent.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm deaf and blind. I'm sitting right here."

"That you are," Eames said softly. He leaned back, out of her line of sight but she turned to look at him. He looked oddly serious and thoughtful and he flipped what looked to be a poker chip in his fingers as he stared back at her.

_He's nervous._

But no, Ana reconsidered after a moment. He licked his lips and quirked another smile at her before finally looking away.

_He's frustrated and trying to hide it._

"We should figure out where you're staying," Arthur said suddenly. Ana sat back in her seat, feeling as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. "Do you mind if Eames went through your bag?"

"I'll keep mum about whatever's in there," Eames teased.

Ana stared at the bag, feeling her palms itch. She didn't like the idea of someone else looking through her things, especially when she knew the items could tell her more about herself but it couldn't be helped at the moment. They needed a destination and she simply didn't have the dexterity needed to open the clasp.

"That's fine," she said. She elbowed the bag away from her and leaned away from Arthur, feeling childishly sullen and angry. Eames and Arthur knew who she was but they weren't telling her; it felt like a game of keep away and she was stuck in the middle.

_It's not fair._

Eames picked up her bag and Ana stared ahead, even as Arthur looked over at her every few minutes. All she wanted was the truth. What was so horrible, so awful that they couldn't simply-

And suddenly a quote from an unremembered source floated up to the surface of her mind.

"_Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall drive you mad."_

**###**

Ana heard the sound of the television outside the bedroom and she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

They had found her hotel with little difficulty- a small but exclusive boutique that couldn't have held more than a hundred guests at any given time. Her quarters, while not as ostentatious as the suite they'd just come from, was large enough to have a separate room for the two twin beds she'd apparently requested.

She could hear Arthur and Eames talking but not loud enough to hear words. She suspected they were arguing again, using the television as a sort of audio shield, and she made herself look down at the bag on the bed in front of her.

_But first-_

She wandered around the room, taking in the details with hungry eyes. Her headache seemed to lessen as her mind whirred into action. For a moment, she could set aside the pain and confusion and focus on something else.

A small dark blue suitcase lay open on its back on the unmade bed- apparently, she valued privacy over house cleaning- and Ana looked down at its contents without touching anything.

She hadn't taken her clothes out of the suitcase and almost everything was still rolled up in neat rows. From what she could tell, she favored neutrals; beige and gray and navy blue and black, there seemed to be no bright colors in the mix. Gingerly, mindful of her injuries she pulled a few items out.

_A small selection of clothing but chosen so that I could mix and match to stretch my wardrobe._

Interesting.

_Maybe I was afraid this job would last longer than expected?_

Ana carefully unzipped the side pocket and poked through several sets of underwear. All as bland and sensible as she'd expected them to be. The one detail that did leap out for her though were the labels. Apparently, while she seemed relatively staid compared to the rest of the people she'd met today, she dressed just as well as they did though with far less flair. She liked to wear soft clothing, things that could breathe and last for hours without wrinkling badly but otherwise… she was fairly _boring_.

_But that in itself is important._

_Again- I must have wanted to _blend_ in, not fit in._

There was no real personality in her clothing, nothing she could glean about the person who wore them that she could pull from.

_Was that on purpose? Did I know I would get to this point?_

Ana frowned and tilted her head to the side. Something was off about the suitcase flap but the more she stared, the more uncertain she felt. She unfocused her eyes a bit then looked away before studying it again.

There seemed to be a small break in the line of the interior pocket. It wasn't obvious but Ana could tell the lines weren't as straight as they should be. She reached out and gently touched the surface, noting the odd change in texture when she reached the crooked edge. She held her breath for a moment as she pushed through a small hole, widening it with her fingertips. It came apart easily and she was able to feel what was hiding underneath.

_Solid. Small rectangle. More than one._

_Papers. Thin books? Pamphlets?_

She bent down and pulled out the nearest object with her thumb and index finger, frowning when she realized what it was. She reached in and began pulling out the other objects as dread grew in her chest and settled in her stomach.

"What the hell?" Ana whispered, staring down at the pile. "What the hell is going on?"

For some reason, she had hidden five passports in the interior of her suitcase. Not all the passports were American.

She picked one up and opened it, blinking in surprise. She looked through each one and stared at the text before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

_Stay calm. Stay alert._

Each passport contained a different name and address. All had been well used, with stamps from different countries.

"Arthur had to run out for a bit to take care of a few things but I've taken the liberty of ordering room service."

Eames' voice at the doorway made Ana jump to her feet and whirl around. She stared at him with wide eyes and forced herself not to back away like a frightened animal.

He took a step into the room and smiled, about to say something else when he noticed the passports on the bed.

"Arthur said I wasn't a criminal," Ana said. "But this…"

Eames looked surprised and then rubbed his face with one hand before looking up at her again. "Ana, I really think this conversation should wait until-"

"You want me to know something that Arthur doesn't," Ana said. "He's not here. Why not just tell me now?"

"It's not that simple," Eames said. He held out his hands as if to calm her down. "As much as I hate to agree with him, Arthur has a point. You think we can just tell you your whole life story in one shot and be done with it but think about it- _really_ think about it. It would be more like reciting a fairytale or a fable. It would have no meaning for you whatsoever. It would just be words."

"I'm not looking for meaning, I just want to know who I am. Do I have a family? Do I have a home?" Ana pressed. "Why am I here? Am I a bad person?"

"You're not a bad person." Eames' voice was gentle and he lowered his hand. The coy smiles, the teasing gleam in his eyes was gone and he looked genuinely worried. "You're far from it. And while you may have committed acts that were less than legal, any wrong you've done was in defense of yourself and others."

Eames nodded at the passports. "Those things are just protective measures. People in our profession, in _my_ profession, are nomads but you have a home. You have a home, Ana."

"Protective measures…" Ana swallowed. "Am I in trouble?"

Eames' gaze didn't falter but his expression seemed to grow dark. "We've taken care of that, Ana. You're in no danger."

"But I was."

"Yes."

"Was it related to this job? Did it… did it happen recently? What was it?"

"It happened a few months ago," Eames said. He hesitated and then shook his head. "But I won't tell you more until you've had a moment to sit down and get a warm meal inside of you."

He laughed softly, more to himself than anything else. "I really can't leave you alone for more than a few minutes, can I, pet? You'll just bloody pick apart everything around you and-"

"I'm not your _pet_," Ana said angrily. "This is bullshit and you know it. Neither you nor Arthur should hold my own life over my head because you don't think I'll value it enough. Who are you to tell me what I'll find meaning in? Who are you to me at all?"

Eames stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face and she realized she'd been yelling at him. She looked around the room again, no longer able to look him in the eye and felt drained.

"I know you think you're helping," Ana said, staring at the bedside table. "But what do you think it feels like to have to look through my things as if they belong to someone else? How do you think it feels to look at someone and know they could help you but won't."

"We don't know a lot about the mind, you know? The brain, yes. But not the mind," Eames said, in a strangely conversational tone. She stared at him, surprised at the apparent non-sequitur. "I believe repressed memories don't exist. Not in the way they're described in literature anyway. We don't simply forget things. There are only memories we choose- or perhaps our mind chooses for us- to ignore or think around. Memories aren't located in one area, after all."

Eames took a step forward and gestured vaguely. "Memories aren't archives, mind you. They're ghosts of events and they might even be wholly wrong. Our minds have this little quirk where it builds composites- adding details between the facts. That doesn't mean what you remember isn't genuine but memories aren't photographs. They aren't static; they can change or be changed."

Ana closed her eyes, repeating his words and pulling out the meaning from them.

"So Arthur thinks that by telling me anything, you'll contaminate my memories," she said, opening her eyes. "He thinks you'll change me."

Eames nodded. "My esteemed countryman Locke thought that memory is necessary for personal identity. If you can't remember an event, you're not the same person that did. Change that memory, you change that person."

"Locke lived in the seventeenth century," Ana said. "And he was a philosopher."

"That doesn't make him wrong, does it?"

"It doesn't make him right either." Ana sighed. "Locke also believed we start out as a _tabula rasa_, empty slates at birth but that's wrong, isn't it? We're primed at birth for experience. Even as newborns, our minds are ready to learn. You can't be a blank slate and somehow figure out language- you have to be prepared for it."

A flicker of an expression, curious and odd, flitted across his handsome face and she wondered what it meant. Then Eames smiled crookedly and tapped the side of his nose.

"I can help you change your dressings if you want to wash up," he said, turning to leave. "The food should be up here soon but I'm sure you'll want to get tidied up first."

_It was triumph on his face. He looked like I'd just said something he wanted me to say._

_But what was it? What point did I make for him?_

"Wait," Ana said. "Tell me one thing."

Eames turned around reluctantly, one hand on the doorframe.

"Oxford or Cambridge?"

Eames laughed, warm and rich and throaty, and Ana almost smiled back. It made her feel…

_Nice. It's a good sound._

"Why don't you tell me what you think?" he said.

Ana felt nervous suddenly and she let out a soft breath. "I don't know much about either but if I were to guess, I'd say you studied at Oxford."

"You never guess, Ana," Eames said.

His voice was fond as he turned around again.

"You've never needed to."

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	4. The Extractor and the Forger

**A/N: **A short vignette that I wanted to throw into a chapter but it just didn't seem to fit anywhere. I'll add more of these as the story goes on. They're not entirely meaningless; one of them (yes, I've already started drafting them- sad!) will be the key to the mystery. Also, did you know that vignette used to mean, "something that may be written on a vine-leaf"?

Anyway, thanks to all the folks who have left a review. Seriously- a heartfelt thank you! you guys keep me motivated and let me know I'm not just writing into the ether. *virtual hug*

**The Extractor and the Forger**

"Oxford or Cambridge?"

Eames looked up from his notes and then smiled up at Ana, leaning back in the creaky metal chair. Arthur's new protégé looked down at him with an inquisitive yet expectant expression. What set her apart from the others, the reason why Eames was willing to indulge her at the moment, was the lack of intent behind the question.

He could read people- in fact, he considered himself an expert on people. Eames didn't think you could successfully put on the skin of another person without having a good idea about _people_ as a whole. Call it sociology or anthropology but you couldn't learn how to be an individual without knowing group dynamics.

And Ana was an easy enough creature to read. Compared to the sharks in the room she was, in a phrase, completely harmless.

_Where in the world did you find this little gem, Arthur?_

It wasn't the first time Eames had thought the question. Early yesterday morning, when Arthur went through the introductions between the team in the abandoned warehouse they were calling their HQ, Ana stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't really anything about her looks that gave her away but her manner_._

Ana had stood behind Arthur, clad in a green silk dress, like a child might hide behind the legs of a favored parent. Though the others were intelligent enough- Michael as their chemist and Kirkpatrick as their architect- they had merely taken her at face value as a new member and moved on. Cobb's retirement had left a hole in their world and extractors were popping up, all in a mad dash to call themselves the best. Being vouched by Arthur was in itself a better recommendation than Cobb's word.

Ana had considered them all with bright, curious eyes but she'd trailed behind Arthur like a duckling, keeping close to him whenever possible. It was obvious she was new to the business; she couldn't have been much younger than Arthur or himself but her wide-eyed wonder made her seem child-like and impossibly young.

_On-the-job training for the newbie. _

Ana was a treat to watch: though she was slender and long-limbed, she moved awkwardly, as if too busy examining her surroundings to care about grace or style. She was quick to smile and there was a _sweetness_ about her that Eames found refreshing. Most people he encountered these days were jaded and harsh, all jagged edges and straight lines, hidden agendas and false faces… but Ana was soft and warm.

_The girl is a bloody open book._

Eames felt a sliver of annoyance at Arthur at the thought. For all he knew, Ana might be a brilliant extractor but she was as civilian as one could get. Even Ariadne in the early days of her tenure as a dream worker was more hardened. Ana was vulnerable and as such, could prove to be a liability even on an easy job such as this was.

All these things flashed through Eames' mind as he regarded Ana's face.

"What about Oxford or Cambridge?" he asked.

Ana tilted her head to the side like a bird. "I've already determined you were in the military. Probably MI6 though I'm sure you can't and won't speak about that with me. It's all in the way you hold yourself- time spent in special services have a way on leaving their mark on people, even in affectation. You're a world traveler but you prefer warmer climes, especially equatorial latitudes. Your family is titled, wealthy, and you're the oldest son. You're well educated. But I can't seem to figure out if you got your degree from Oxford or Cambridge."

Eames sat up, startled. His smile grew wider even as he felt his hackles rise.

"Naughty girl, my records are-"

Ana looked surprised. "Oh, I haven't seen your records. Do any still exist? I would have thought you'd destroy them. Besides, I don't even know your first name."

Eames rewound the past two days and considered. Ana hadn't gone near Arthur's laptop so far as he could tell and the only thing he could remember her reading were the files Arthur had given all of them on the mark. She'd remained in Eames' line of sight while they worked, occasionally looking up and studying everyone with a small smile on her lips.

And that, of course he saw it now, was the answer.

_Observant little brat, aren't you?_

But Eames was charmed and not a little impressed. She may have been guileless but it seemed she was much, much sharper than he'd given her credit for and he rarely underestimated people.

"And what made you think Oxford or Cambridge? I could have gone anywhere else," Eames said, neatly side stepping her other observations. He noticed she didn't bother asking for confirmation either, as if she were beyond that point. "St. Andrews, perhaps."

"With your family? Not likely." It was a statement, clear and direct and… well, _true_. "I imagine that if you'd gone to the wrong school, you'd be cut off."

"An inheritance is of no concern to me," Eames said. "Didn't Arthur tell you? Dream-share is a lucrative industry."

Ana shook her head. "I'm sorry, I wasn't clear. I didn't mean cut off from money. Cut off from _family._"

Eames' felt his smile waver slightly but he rallied himself. "You are a very dangerous creature, aren't you, Ana?"

She seemed taken aback by his tone and she took a step back. "Not at all. It's… it's all very obvious, isn't it?"

"Is it now? I don't see how it can be. Why don't you explain-"

"What's going on?" Arthur seemed to materialize beside Ana and she seemed relieved by his presence. To Eames' amusement and irritation, Arthur put his hand on her lower back, as if to reassure her.

Ana opened her mouth and then hesitated, glancing at Eames. She looked at him apologetically.

"I've offended-" she began but Eames cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"We were just having a conversation, Arthur. No harm, no foul," he said. Ana looked surprised and he winked at her. "You can scamper off now into whatever little hole you've fashioned from your papers. Ana and I are just fine."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. Then he turned to Ana and gestured at their table.

"I just spoke with a contact I have at Richardson's firm. He has some new information that I think you could use," he said, already beginning to pull Ana away.

"Really now, Arthur, she's allowed to play with the other kids, isn't she?"

"Maybe you should spend less time _playing _and more time reading up on Richardson's schedule," Arthur said.

"I've already memorized the lot of it," Eames said. He eyed the PASIV, still in its case at the far corner of the room. "And I'm sure Ana could use a break. Care to do a test run, pet? I'd like to see what you can do."

Ana looked at Arthur and Eames saw her take in the set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw.

"Next time," she said simply and smiled at Arthur, already turning away from Eames.

Arthur seemed pleased by her show of loyalty and they walked away together, heads bent close and Arthur's hand still on the small of her back.

_Where indeed have you been hiding her all this time, Arthur? _

Because Eames realized then- Arthur hadn't merely discovered Ana. He'd likely known about her for a long time and plucked her out of her life and into theirs just as Cobb's departure was beginning to be felt.

He looked at her face again. She really was exquisite, beautiful and bright in the shadowy warehouse. She said something in Arthur's ear that made the other man grin, transforming his normally pinched face. Michael and Kirkpatrick seemed not to care, lost in their own worlds of chemicals and right angles. He supposed she was safe with them then, something Arthur probably already sussed out. Michael and Kirkpatrick may have been sharks but they were fair and patient and generally trustworthy.

_At least there's less chance of danger with those two. Easy enough job to cut her teeth on._

But Eames didn't know Ana and as he turned back to the thick sheath of schedules on his desk, he knew he shouldn't really give a shit about what could happen to her. Better she learn to toughen up quickly than be bait for predators. He'd see her again or not; she'd either be a great extractor or simply eye candy. Whatever.

But part of him thought that it would have been a shame for something to dim that light. Especially when she seemed to burn so fiercely- all curious eyes and razor sharp observations.

_I do hope you know what you're doing, Arthur._

**###**

**Please read and review- thanks!**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: **So blah blah blah Arthur showed Ariadne his totem blah Cobb **told** Ariadne what his totem did blah blah. In my opinion, if you need something to help you figure out reality from dreams, you keep your mouth shut about it. If you do happen to tell anyone, they have to be in your Circle of Trust (initial caps, yes I went there). I'm saying this up front because…

**Chapter 4:**

"Okay, I think I have everything."

Ana looked up at Arthur from her dinner and carefully set her fork down. No longer running simply on adrenaline, she felt calm for the first time that day.

They were in the mini-kitchen-cum-dining-room of her hotel room while Eames sat on the couch in the living area. His stockinged feet were propped up on the dark wood table and he was typing away on a small laptop he'd pulled out of the gym bag taken in from the car. Both Arthur and Eames had eaten earlier, the former arriving just as room service came up, and remnants of their meal were piled up on the far end of the counter where she sat.

"And what is it that you have exactly?" Eames asked. "All you've done is pace for the past ten minutes."

Ana stared down at her plate, willing herself not to blush at the sound of his voice.

Earlier, Eames had half-jokingly offered to feed her and she'd been embarrassed by his suggestion; she still felt a bit awkward around him. After their conversation, he'd put her passports back into their hiding place and even re-dressed her bandages, helping her get as cleaned up as well he could.

The whole time though, she couldn't help but shake the suspicion that he'd been far closer to her before. Each time he came into contact with her bare skin, he'd linger there and swallow or lick his lips. Once, when he reached behind her to get a clean wash cloth, she thought she heard him inhale deeply, as if taking her in through smell.

There was a sense of familiarity in each touch, a minute moment of hesitation that told her he was holding back only for her sake.

"_Who are you to me at all?"_

It didn't seem wholly sexual… it was deeper. As if he were enjoying the fact that she was _there_.

"An account of Ana's actions from this morning," Arthur said, pulling Ana from her thoughts. He flipped through a small notebook as he continued pacing behind the counter. He'd taken his sweater off and rolled up his sleeves but he still looked sleek and fresh.

Ana watched as he turned a page back.

"You arrived at the suite at approximately eight-fifteen this morning, carrying your bag but not wearing a jacket even though it was chilly. You settled down on the couch next to Ariadne's desk. From then to around ten-thirty, you went through your notes on the mark, only minimally interacting with the others. You asked for my notes and I gave them to you and you clarified a building plan with Ariadne.

"At about ten forty-five, Miron announced that he was close to perfecting the new formula. You were interested in this and you had a conversation with him about it until about eleven-twenty, when you left the hotel. During this conversation, you offered to test it for him. When you left, you took your notes and your bag with you.

"You didn't come back until three in the afternoon."

"For the record, I find it creepy you were watching her so closely," Eames said drily. Ana turned to look at him and he offered her a half smile. "Playing at Hitchcock, Arthur?"

"You keep track of people," Ana said, turning back towards Arthur. "It's what you do, isn't it? Keep going, please."

"You didn't get re-settled. Miron told you he was done with the formula and asked if you still wanted to test it," Arthur said. He glanced at his notebook and then stopped pacing with a sigh. "And you did. I offered to go under with you but you declined. You set yourself up on the PASIV for ten minutes topside- that's two hours in a dream- and when you woke up... Well."

When he looked at her, she noticed his eyes always went to her hands first. He seemed fixated on her injuries, as if he'd been the one who had driven her into the mirror in the first place. He couldn't seem to let it go.

_He's seen me hurt before._

"You asked me why I volunteered. You said it wasn't my 'thing,'" she said. "Those were your words when I first woke up and you didn't know yet that I couldn't remember. Were there any other anomalies in my behavior this morning?"

Arthur glanced at Eames briefly.

"You were quiet," Arthur said. "But you've been quieter lately anyway."

"Am I usually more talkative?" she asked. "What happened to me?"

"Call it a side effect of an exciting life," Eames said, getting up from the couch and moving towards them. He stood next to Ana on her stool, leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "It doesn't matter right now. You were studying up on our job for most of the morning and you tend to get lost in your brain during the initial stages. Nothing too peculiar about that."

Somehow Ana felt that Eames was lying but he kept his face too well to be sure. Arthur's face was like stone but his gaze once again moved down to her hands.

_Gotcha. _

_Why are you both lying to me?_

"Alright," Ana said slowly. "So the only really odd thing I did was volunteer to be a guinea pig. I must have trusted Miron if I went out of my way to offer myself up. What was this new formula supposed to do? There's a timer on the machine, the PASIV, so how did I leave the dream early?"

"There are two ways to leave a dream before the timer goes off. One way is through what's called a kick, when your sleeping body a level above you or in the real world experiences the sensation of falling or being moved abruptly," Eames explained. "You see, you can go down more than one level in a dream: a dream within a dream and so on. You wake up through a kick when at the level above you, something jolts you awake."

His mouth turned down slightly then.

"The rather more gruesome, less pleasant way out is to die in the dream itself. Either in an indirect or direct way. It's much faster and doesn't require additional people but like I said, it's far less pleasant."

Ana made a face but stayed silent.

"The new formula was supposed to stabilize the dream but it only worked on one level," Arthur said, taking control of the conversation again. "The point of it was to help the extractor find information easier so that depth wouldn't be required. The dreamer would be able to navigate through the mark's mind more efficiently. It provides clarity, a heightened level of mental acuity but only for the person using it."

"So in this scenario, the extractor would have to be the only one to use it," Eames added. "Faster processing isn't distributed, it's centered on the actual user, the dreamer. More than one user, you compromise the stability of the dream. So the dreamer had to be the extractor."

"Which is me," Ana said, trying to make sense of it all. The terms whirled around in her mind. "I _extract_ information from people. From a mark."

And then she realized what that really meant.

"I _steal_ from them."

"You don't take jobs that extract from innocents," Eames said. His face was serious. "You never have."

But that didn't matter to Ana. She thought, _I steal from people._

"It's not a permanent removal, Ana," Arthur said, moving towards her. "Eames is telling the truth. You only do extractions on people who deserve it. It's not stealing, it's-"

"It's taking something that isn't mine to take," she said.

She closed her eyes briefly to center herself and when she opened them again, she found that Arthur was closer. She could see the fine lines around his eyes and mouth as he frowned and the sinewy muscle in his forearms as he gripped his notebook with both hands. He smelled like sandalwood and rum and faintly of the food he'd eaten. She saw his belt was tightened to the second notch and his slim fit pants were perhaps a touch looser than they should have been.

_He's lost weight recently_, she thought. _He probably has a naturally fast metabolism and he hasn't been eating enough to keep up. He probably keeps himself fit but not lately._

_He's tired._

"How do I know I'm not still dreaming?" she said. The thought lay heavy on her shoulders and she hunched over. "What if I'm locked in a dream and I need to wake up?"

Arthur paled at the question and Eames stood up straight, uncrossing his arms. They both looked alarmed and Ana was chilled by the look in their eyes. They were frightened.

_Oh my God, I never considered it but…_

_What if I'm dreaming? _

_What if I'm _still_ dreaming?_

"Ana, you're awake," Arthur said firmly. "This is real."

"And I have only your word on that?" Ana said, shaking her head. "How can I tell?"

"We have things called totems," Eames said. He held out the poker chip he'd been fiddling with earlier and flipped it in the air. It landed in the palm of his hand and he curled his fingers over it so it was hidden. "Something you can keep with you at all times, something special that you could carry with you anywhere. It tells you if you're dreaming or not because it behaves differently in a dream than it does in reality."

"I don't understand," Ana said. "Wouldn't a dreamer simply manipulate the dream so your object changed?"

"No, because only you'd know what it did outside of dreams," Arthur said. He reached up and then paused, lowering his hand. He eyed her neckline. "You're wearing a necklace, aren't you?"

Ana nodded slowly. "I noticed it when I first woke up but when I tried to-"

"No!" Arthur nearly yelled out. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to come loose. In a softer voice he said, "Don't tell us. Don't tell _anyone_ what you discovered about that necklace. It's your secret alone. It's how you can tell you're in a dream. Usually totems have a defect, something that sets it apart from other objects like it. A broken toy or an inscription on a ring. Again, only you should know what that that defect is."

Ana reached up and touched the slight bulge underneath her shirt with her fingertips. Earlier that day, she'd noticed it but hadn't given it much thought. She'd figured she would have to examine it later.

Now Ana stared at Arthur. "How did you know what my totem was?"

Arthur looked away.

"You told me what it was," he said. "Not the secret about it; that was yours to keep. But I knew about it because you told me."

"I trusted you that much?" Ana said. "Do I know what your totem is?"

"I trusted you that much," Arthur repeated. He raised his eyes and for a moment, she saw longing there, deep and wild.

And then it was gone.

Ana felt at a loss for a moment, unsure of what conclusions she could draw. It was confirmation of her earlier thoughts- that her and Arthur had been close but now, instead of being simply curious she felt sad. Whatever had happened, Arthur still felt deeply about it and she realized that looking at her, being able to be this close to her, must have felt like being on borrowed time for him.

_Is that why you don't want to tell me anything yet? Because it gives you the chance to stay close?_

"You should go check it," Arthur said. He walked away and faced one of the windows that looked out on the setting sun. "Prove to yourself you're not dreaming. I don't think it would be difficult to figure out the trick."

It seemed logical. Ana stood up and headed towards the bedroom. Halfway there she turned around and looked at Eames. He was still leaning against the counter, his gaze faraway and thoughtful.

"Did you know what my totem was?" she asked. "Did I tell you too?"

Eames' face was as still and cold as ice. He shook his head once and walked into the living room without another word, as if he couldn't trust himself to speak.

Ana touched her necklace and stared after him for a moment.

"_Who are you to me at all?"_

**###**

It was a gold locket on a medium sized chain. It was delicate and pretty, with an intricate design on the edge and an engraving on the back.

_M & M _

Ana couldn't open it though. The locket was welded shut and when she tried to remove it from her neck for a closer look, she realized that the clasp on the chain was welded together too.

_I didn't want to take any chances._

A good tug might have been enough to break the links and perhaps a pick could have opened the locket but she didn't want to do that. Apparently, her totem was a locket that wouldn't open; a locket that had initials carved on the back of it.

_My name is Ana so what do the M's stand for?_

Ana looked up at the reflection in the bathroom mirror and though she felt uneasy looking at it, she forced herself to study it.

It was time to play the game again.

She glanced at the door to make sure it was locked and then began to undress until she stood in her underwear, clothes piled on the counter.

_What do I see? What does it mean?_

The things she'd noticed before were still true: she was tall and thin with dark hair and pale eyes, that wouldn't change- but she noticed new things.

She was pale all over so she must have spent most of her days indoors. No signs of a tan line around her ring finger so unless she was in a secret relationship, she wasn't married or engaged. Her nails lacked polish but were cut short and neat. She studied the ends of her hair and noted they were straggly- she could have used a haircut six or seven months ago.

_I maintain myself but only just barely- enough to fool people who aren't looking too closely._

But those were relatively minor details.

_What happened to me?_

A small round puckered wound on her right shoulder. A long dark pink scar next to it. Pink thin lines all over her stomach. She glanced down at her arms and saw slashes on the underside of her forearms placed at odd angles. They were so faint they nearly blended in with her pale skin.

_I've been hurt recently._

_But the ones on my arms are old- maybe a few years old. Likely scenario?_

Ana closed her eyes and tried to imagine what could cause such odd, localized wounds. She remembered Arthur's face as he burst through the door of the bathroom in the other suite, his furious, frightened expression…

_Crawling through broken, sharp bits. Broken concrete? Metal?_

_Glass._

Ana opened her eyes and lifted one leg up, setting her foot on the counter. After a moment, she switched legs.

There were far fewer scars but they were there.

_When it happened, I wore pants and my arms were unprotected. _

But if her arms were completely unprotected, the scars would have run deeper.

_Probably used something to cover them- a shirt or blanket or something. Something thin enough to cut through if pressed upon but sturdy enough to use as protection. _

It was just a theory but it felt right. Based on the faint marks, Ana had crawled through glass not less than two years ago and been stitched up so well the scars were nearly gone. She apparently wasn't self-conscious about them at all- after all, she was wearing a skirt that day.

_Arthur had been there or he'd seen the aftermath. May explain why he's so touchy about my hands._

Ana pressed the lines on her stomach and while she felt no pain, she could feel the raised flesh of healing wounds.

_Shallow cuts, not meant to really do much damage but…_

Ana's hands fell to her sides and she looked up at her reflection.

_Torture. _

_Someone wanted to frighten me._

She would have bled pretty badly. As she stared at the lines, she realized they were straight. Deliberate. Someone had held her down and sliced her flesh.

Ana looked up at her shoulder again. She felt no pain there but the gunshot wound and surgery scar, because that's what she knew they were, were less than a year old. She'd had the best of care, a good recovery. Likely not much rehabilitation was needed.

_I was hurt but not for long. Tortured for a short time. I was treated shortly after _it _happened._

Ana moved onto her clothing and began to pick through them as best she could. Her shirt was a silk light gray button down with matching pearl buttons. No pockets. Well-made but not tailored, off the rack but high-end. The sleeves were wrinkled from where they had been rolled up earlier and there was a spot of blood where she had ripped the cannula out of her arm. She studied the cuffs closely, noting with interest that there was a white powdery substance on the outer edge near the button of the right sleeve.

She sniffed it and smelled perfume, likely hers. A light floral mix. Sniffed again and smelled sweat and…

_Old._

Dust? Old papers? The scent was faint but it made her think of old books. Had she been in a study? A library? Perhaps one with a chalkboard.

_I was out of Arthur's sight for a little over three hours._

_Where did I go?_

Ana put the shirt down and picked up her skirt. Dark blue. Heavy material. She flipped it over, searching… searching…

_There._

Another smudge of white, on the right side of her skirt, next to the pocket. Something had gotten on her hand and she had likely wiped it away on her skirt. She sniffed it and smelled the same _old, dusty _scent.

She searched both pockets but only came up with a crumpled candy wrapper. Putting the skirt aside, she pressed the wrapper down on the counter and looked at it. It was a vibrant gold and green and smelled strongly of mint and chocolate.

The letters were in French.

"_You should eat. I haven't seen you eat at all today."_

Arthur's words. Meticulous, observant Arthur. Protective, note-taking Arthur.

_I don't doubt he would have added "…but a piece of candy" to that sentence if he'd seen me do it._

It was a fresh wrapper. Likely from earlier that day.

_I need to check the room to make sure I didn't get it from here. Then the other hotel._

And then…?

Ana looked at her face in the mirror. At her half-naked body with its history of old wounds and past hurts. Arthur said the morning had been chilly but she hadn't worn a jacket.

_I took a taxi here but I didn't care about the cold. I don't care about taking care of myself._

She thought about the marks on her sleeve and the wrapper in her pocket.

_Chalk and chocolate. If they were from the same source then I was probably at…_

"A school," she said, staring at her own alien face.

**###**

Eames was on the phone when Ana walked out of the bathroom. She'd gotten dressed, carefully tucking the necklace underneath her shirt and tried to keep her face as neutral as possible.

"I'm still not sure this is real," she said honestly when Arthur looked up at her. He was sitting at the counter now, working on his own laptop and she sat across from him. "I think a totem would only work if I knew what it did before. As it is, it's just a trinket."

Arthur's expression was unreadable but the lines around his eyes deepened.

"I know," he said. "But Ana, don't do anything foolish, alright? Wait until we get this sorted out. Just… just don't do anything."

"I won't," she said. "I'll trust you on this. But Arthur- what's my name?"

He didn't look surprised, which was a surprise in itself. In fact, he looked as if he were expecting the question.

"Ariadne said that 'Ana' was how she knew me," Ana went on. "But that doesn't mean it's my real name. I imagine that dream-share is a dangerous undertaking. Not too many people would be pleased to have someone in their dreams, so we don't use full names do we? Or real names, for that matter."

Arthur focused on his laptop. The sun was more than half way down the horizon and the room was darkening. The light from the screen made Arthur's face look ghostly, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the hollows underneath his dark eyes.

"Miranda," he said. "Your full name is Miranda."

Ana almost touched her necklace but stopped herself.

_M & M _

She thought back to the passports, to all the names she'd flipped through. None of them had been addressed to Miranda. Or Ana, for that matter.

"But Ana is what you've always gone by. Outside of dream-share you use your full name but you prefer Ana."

His tone was wistful though his expression was guarded.

"You've always called me Ana," she said after a short pause. He nodded and then she asked in a softer voice, "How long have you known me, Arthur?"

He raised his eyes. "A long time."

"College?" she pressed. "High school? Before then?"

His mouth tilted up slightly and the shadow of a dimple appeared. "Not exactly diapers."

"But close?"

He didn't answer her but he didn't look away either.

_Did you look out for me, Arthur? Is that what this is about?_

Maybe. Maybe it was more.

"I asked Eames why he couldn't just tell me who I was and he threw out some psychobabble bullshit that I don't think he even believes," Ana said, in an almost whisper. Eames might have been on the phone but she wanted this moment to be just between her and Arthur. "But I've known you longer, haven't I? You know me better, maybe. So why won't you just tell me the truth? It could be that simple, Arthur. You could just help me. Like you… like you always have."

It was a gamble and Ana knew it but she didn't quite expect Arthur's face to crumple the way it did. It was only for a second; his defenses came up again quickly, shuttering the look in his eyes. But she had seen it- an expression of guilt so deep that Ana knew he felt it to his very core. It was something he carried with him and hid, underneath his stoic, stern manner.

"I haven't helped you," he said. He lowered his gaze and began to type again. "Not always. But I'm trying now. Until we know for sure it wasn't chemical or an outside influence that caused this, I think it's better if you don't try so hard to remember. Let it happen on its own."

"You're trying now to help me?" Ana asked. Arthur kept typing and she leaned forward, placing her hand on the edge of his screen. "Because you think I did this. On purpose. You think I did something. That this is something I wanted."

Arthur clenched his jaw. "I didn't say that."

_Stop it. He looks miserable. If I keep pushing him…_

But Arthur held all the cards and expected her to play along. That wasn't fair and really, who gave him this power over her?

_I did. If I did do something to myself then I ultimately gave up control._

Something inside of her rebelled against the idea though.

"Do you always have to say something for me to understand what you mean?"

She expected Arthur to storm off or to shut down completely and ignore her but to her surprise, Arthur reached up and touched her hand, running his thumb gently over her fingers.

"No," he said quietly. "Guess that's both a blessing and a curse."

"Why do you think I would do…"

"You two look cozy."

Ana jumped, feeling oddly guilty, and Arthur put his hand on the counter. Eames looked at them with a raised eyebrow as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"How's Miron's research coming along?" Arthur asked, once again focused on whatever he was typing out. "Found anything?"

Eames' eyes narrowed as he looked at Ana but he spoke to Arthur. "Nothing helpful but Yusuf's on his way here. The man loves a challenge. However, Miron's not convinced it has anything to do with his new formula. I hate to say it but I did look over his notes. Everything seemed legit."

"What if it's not the formula?" Ana asked. "Maybe something happened in the dream, _my_ dream, while I was under. Is that possible? Could dreams affect memories?"

Arthur looked uneasy. "Maybe. We're essentially dealing with the subconscious in dreams and that has far reaching consequences. But we can't know for sure unless we-"

"Unless we go under." Eames leaned down, putting his hand on the counter beside her. "What do you think, Ana? Do you feel up to mucking about in your subconscious again?"

"No," Arthur said resolutely, shaking his head. He closed his laptop with more force than Ana thought was necessary. "I think we should wait until Yusuf gives us the go-ahead before we do anything else."

"It's not up to you, Arthur."

"I don't think I'm ready," Ana said. She glanced at Arthur and then turned to Eames. She felt slightly ashamed to be nervous but she didn't yet trust them enough or the machine, the PASIV, to enter her dreams. It still seemed too invasive, too _soon_. "Could we wait until tomorrow maybe?"

Eames chewed on his bottom lip and let out a soft breath. "Of course," he said. "In your own time, Ana."

"Thank you."

She glanced at the night sky through the window behind Arthur. The sun was gone now and the moon was just making its ascent. It would have been a lovely sight, a moonlit night in Paris, if only the circumstances were different.

_It's one thing to be lost, quite another to lose yourself._

She suddenly felt lonely even with Arthur and Eames beside her and a hollow, melancholy feeling swept over her.

_Does anyone care where I'm at right now?_

Ana stood up and faced the two men. If she was going to brood, then she wanted to do it alone. "Look, I'm tired. I know it's early but I want to lie down for a bit."

"Do you need help getting ready?" Arthur gestured vaguely and Ana wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all- they shared dreams but Arthur could barely look her in the eye about helping her to bed.

She shook her head. "I think I can manage. Good night, Eames. Arthur."

**###**

**Please read and review- thank you!**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Please do let me know what you guys think! Comments/reviews are much appreciated. And thanks for reading!

On a side note, in the movie I saw Eames and Arthur as colleagues. Not really friends but respectful of each other's talents and abilities. I imagine they moved in different circles but occasionally worked together when the job called for it. This fic is set in the future and clearly, there's quite a bit of enmity between them now. Not full-on hate but definitely much more hostility than existed before.

Also, I invite you all to read between the lines =) Ana isn't as observant as she comes across.

**Chapter 5:**

"Is she asleep?" Eames asked.

Arthur nodded as he closed the door to the bedroom and walked back into the living area. The image of Ana's sleeping form, slight and fragile in the shadows of the room, made him wary of Eames' presence.

"Yeah," he said. "Pretty much passed out on the bed."

Eames leaned back on the couch. He looked at Arthur with narrowed eyes, all traces of geniality and friendliness gone from his face, with his arms crossed over his chest and one ankle drawn up on his knee.

Despite the rakish air Eames cultivated, Arthur knew that he was far colder and more intellectual then he let on. Usually Arthur appreciated the other man's efficiency and strategic thinking but now it was something to fight against, an offensive maneuver that had kept Arthur on his toes since Ana had come back from the dream, lost and confused.

"So we're both staying then?" Eames asked, his tone both a challenge and a statement.

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur said mildly. He sat back down on the stool and brought his laptop back from hibernation.

Eames grinned. "I call the couch."

"I don't give a shit, Eames," Arthur said, typing in his password. He honestly didn't care; he wasn't planning on getting more than an hour or so of sleep anyhow. He had too much to do.

_What have you done, Ana?_

Because Arthur had no doubt. From the moment Ana allowed him to touch her, still and quiet as he released her from the PASIV, Arthur knew that she had done _something_.

_And Eames had pounced as soon as he caught on too. _

The person Ana had become over the past few months- the seething personification of fury who could barely look at Arthur without gritting her teeth, would never have allowed him close much less put a hand on her. Now she _looked_ at Eames and _spoke _to him whereas only the day before he'd been persona non grata. She acted as if Eames didn't exist which Arthur knew hurt him more than her angry words or looks ever could.

_I should have known when she accepted the job. She was up to something._

This Ana didn't know her past. She didn't know that she was angry at them both, that she would never have trusted them this far. She didn't know what they had done.

It all summed up to one conclusion in Arthur's mind.

This Ana could be _happy _again.

If it was permanent, Ana could be _free_.

But that didn't mean Arthur wasn't going to try his damnedest to figure out what exactly had happened to her. Was she safe like this? Could she retain her memory moving forward from this point or would she wake up each day not knowing who she was? Could Ana have a good life again?

Arthur had to know so he could protect her and whatever peace she had created for herself.

Part of him was terrified it was permanent and the other was terrified it was not.

"We should just tell her," Eames said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Arthur clenched his jaw, tired of the day-long argument. "Just let out all the demons and exorcise them once and for all. She'd be able to work through the trauma without having to re-experience the pain. Don't you want that for her, Arthur?"

Arthur snorted. "You don't think I know what you're up to?"

"And what exactly am I up to, Arthur?" Eames raised an eyebrow. "Please, enlighten me. I'm only suggesting that this could provide catharsis without-"

"Give me some credit here," Arthur said, looking back down at his laptop. He added another line of code to the program he'd been working on. "You want to tell Ana because she can't remember the fact that she'd rather cut off her own tongue than speak to you. You tell her everything now and she won't remember the emotions behind the memories. She'll only see the logic; _your _logic."

Arthur glanced up. He felt a cold satisfaction at Eames' stormy expression. "You want absolution at any price. Who cares if she's damaged as long as you can have her look at you the way she used to?

"But let me guess. This time you'll make yourself the hero, instead of the villain. This must all be so convenient for you."

Eames stood up, his eyes dark with barely contained anger, and Arthur tensed. Ana was in the next room but Arthur had locked the door behind him. She usually slept like a log despite her exposure to Somnacin; it was a trait she'd carried over from childhood.

Arthur had the only other key to the bedroom, having taken it from the front desk attendant earlier when he wasn't looking. Eames was bigger than him but Arthur was faster and he had a knife strapped to his calf. If they came to blows now and woke Ana up, at least she'd be spared from the sight of it. Besides-

_It's been a long time coming, Mr. Eames, _he thought.

But Eames only stared at him.

And then he grinned.

"Now, Arthur," he said softly. "What would you gain by hiding the truth from our sweet little Ana, hm? A chance to start over perhaps? Do things differently? Oh, I'm sure you relish the opportunity for a fresh start. After all it must _burn_ knowing that your friendship never grew into something more. You contaminated her life the moment you stepped back into it. Who wouldn't want to start anew?"

Eames' voice hardened even as his smile grew bigger.

"So if you find issue with my desire for absolution then so be it. I figure it's a far lesser sin than the one of concealment. I don't regret my actions, Arthur, but you must regret yours. I may have pulled the trigger but none of it would have happened if not for you."

Arthur said nothing and looked back down at the screen. The characters seemed to blur together but he pretended that Eames' words hadn't affected him.

The truth was that Eames was right. Arthur didn't know if Ana would have been better off without his influence but at least…

He shook his head to clear his mind and rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, Eames was putting on his jacket.

"What are you doing?" he asked before he could stop himself. He was a creature of habit; he always liked to have information even if it didn't seem relevant to the circumstances at hand.

Eames chuckled and patted his chest, checking for his wallet. "Headed out to take care of a few things."

"Where? To do what?"

Eames shook his head and moved towards the door.

"Don't you worry about that, Arthur. I will be back."

Arthur grunted and continued to type. He didn't look up when he heard the door close and Eames' heavy footsteps fade off into the distance. His hands flew over the keys, intent on his work. He pushed his argument with Eames out of his mind and focused.

"_Where would an extractor hide their secrets?"_

It was a question Ana had asked him once in amusement, and it was one that he now had to consider seriously. Because even when Ana had trusted him, she still had secrets she kept from everyone. It was part of her job and what she'd been trained to do, and it was one of the reasons why Arthur had kept tabs on her for decades after their childhood.

"_Where would you hide your secrets, Ana?"_

Ana laughed when Arthur had thrown the question back at her and he remembered that day, the way her eyes had twinkled with mischief. It had only been three years before and yet seemed like a lifetime ago.

He typed furiously, even as his fingers began to grow stiff, pushing himself to keep going. He pulled up specialized forums and databases and scanned the content for what he needed, adding to the program as he went along.

_Remember Arthur, _she'd told him once, _reading minds is useless._ _People change their minds all the time. It's better to know how someone thinks rather than what they're thinking at any given moment._

Ana, like Arthur, took copious notes. She knew that information stored in the mind could be twisted and warped into something completely different from the original material. If she had done something to herself, Ana would have research notes. Dreams were still uncharted territory for her; an unsafe, unfamiliar place that required cartography. More importantly, dreams were a direct line into the subconscious mind. Into memory itself.

Note-taking grounded her, helped keep her in reality. They existed, Arthur knew this because he understood how Ana thought.

_She would have kept her notes someplace safe, where she knew no one in the business could reach them._

That eliminated her computer at home or any other personal devices like her phone or tablet or even email or the free online backup services Arthur knew she used.

_Too obvious and yet not obvious enough._

Just a few more hours and Arthur knew he'd have a workable program- a hack. Something that could slip under the radar and bypass several security layers all at once. It was a program that could search for very specific pieces of information- phrases and words within a certain context.

"_Where would you hide your secrets, Ana?"_

Ana had laughed and said, "_I wouldn't hide them at all."_

Arthur rubbed his forehead, feeling an impending headache coming on from eye strain. He was tired but he had to keep going. He stopped typing for a moment and pulled up a site, a log-in page, staring at it for a moment and feeling a burst of inspiration at the familiar text. The page represented a locked door, the closed gateway that he had to break through.

"_It's better to know how someone thinks."_

This was Ana's safe place, her haven. She was an idealist but one with a very keen sense of humor. The irony probably amused her but the benefits of multiple security clearances would have been the reason why she would have kept information _at work_. It was clever and hopeful and absolutely naïve. Then again, it might have been an act of desperation and fury; an act of someone with no other options.

Either way, it was where Ana would have kept her notes.

_It's how she thinks._

Arthur stared at the words for a moment longer.

_The Federal Bureau of Investigation._

Arthur closed the page.

He kept working.

**###**

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, mademoiselle?"

It was obvious that the cashier was asking about her order but Ana stared at the chalkboard menu and frowned. Everything was in French and she felt a burst of frustration at her ignorance. She glanced around for a moment, looking at people milling about the small, half-empty café and then back at the counter with its display of hand-made pastries.

_I don't even know how I take my coffee or if I even drink it._

"Ana, what would you like?" Eames asked, standing beside her.

She shrugged, giving up. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Ana pulled the jacket around her with her hands in her pockets and looked down. She wore a sweater and skirt, easy pieces to pull on even with her hands, and Eames had handed her a jacket before they left her suite that morning. She wasn't even sure it was hers- it lacked the perfume and scent of laundry the rest of her things held and the jacket seemed… well. Unlike her.

It was a rich, vibrant green- so bright that anyone would have seen her coming from a block away. It made her feel a little like a target but it fit and kept her warm in the cool morning air so she was glad to have it.

"Not in the mood for anything specific then?"

"Eames, really. Water would be fine."

He hummed and then leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Here's a hint- you have a sweet tooth. How about I order you a hot chocolate and something a bit more substantial? Have a seat and I'll come find you."

"Sounds good," she said, already turning away. She found a small table near a large window and sat down, letting her bag slide down her arm to the floor. At the table across from her was a young mother with two small children, a boy and a girl, playing quietly together and the little scene made her feel an odd mix of contentment and loneliness.

_Must be nice to know your place in the world,_ she thought.

Ana had woken up disoriented and groggy, disappointed that she could only remember the events of the day before but nothing else. She couldn't remember her dreams but felt as if she'd had them. She found Arthur asleep at the counter, with his head in his arms. He'd been wearing what he wore the night before and Ana didn't have to look twice at him to know he'd spent the night hunched over his laptop.

Eames had been on the couch wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants and his gym bag looked filled with what Ana suspected were clothes from his hotel room.

She wasn't surprised that the two men had decided to spend the night but she wasn't sure she wanted them there for much longer.

"Here you go," Eames said, placing a large cup and plate in front of her. Ana blinked, a little surprised she hadn't noticed him coming and realized that she'd been staring at the family.

The woman was a stay-at-home mother whose husband doted on her and their children. She was the disciplinarian though. Both of her children were left-handed and her son had been sickly when he was a baby. He was in a soccer phase but not very good at it, perhaps because his coach emphasized right handedness. The daughter was a tomboy but was growing out of it and-

_My mind just does this automatically. I can't stop it, _Ana thought. _I just see things and I-_

The mother, elegant and beautiful, caught her looking and winked at her and then nodded at Eames.

_Oh Jesus Christ. She probably thinks-_

Ana realized that it was the way Arthur cursed. Arthur had dropped them off a few blocks away from _Le Royal Monceau, _ostensibly to go back to his own hotel and change. He also had to pick the other chemist up from the airport.

Ana wondered at the feeling of uncertainty when he wasn't in sight.

"Say what you will about the French, they do get every meal right," Eames said, sinking into the chair in front of her. She eyed the pastries before them and frowned.

"That's… a lot of chocolate. I really have a sweet tooth?" she said weakly. Eames chuckled and she reached out to grasp the cup in her hands when he held out a straw. She smiled sheepishly as he placed it in her cup.

"Thanks," she said, leaning forward. "I keep forgetting about the bandages."

"No worries," Eames said cheerfully as he took a sip of his espresso. He hadn't shaved that morning and his stubble was thicker. His full pink mouth and the sharp part of his hair were an odd contrast to his overall scruffiness and she was distracted by the inconsistency of his appearance. "I trust you slept well last night?"

Ana nodded and stirred her drink with the straw. "I did. I think I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow."

"You always do sleep well, even without the help of drugs," Eames said lightly. Ana looked at him sharply.

"Do I?" Ana asked. "Do I do this a lot? The dreaming thing, with you people?"

Eames stilled and Ana saw that he was holding himself very carefully, as if not to give too much away.

"I wouldn't say a lot. You'd pop up at jobs every now and then disappear afterwards."

"To where?" Ana said. She took a sip of her hot chocolate to give herself time to think. The sweetness of the drink was almost overpowering and she had to force herself to swallow.

_I don't think I like this._

In fact, Ana felt a wave of revulsion and she drew back and made a face. She wanted to get the taste out of her mouth immediately.

"Not made to your liking?" Eames asked. He looked concerned but Ana didn't think he'd understand- the taste of chocolate was _horrible_. It made her heart race and her hands shake and the back of her head hurt like…

_It's a memory. _

Ana blinked and forced herself to calm. "I don't think I like chocolate."

Eames reached out and brought her cup to his lips before setting it back down again. "It tastes fine," he said but he was studying her closely. "Do you feel alright, Ana? You look a bit shaken."

"I'm fine," she said. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Do I always work with Arthur?"

Eames studied her for a beat, his eyes worried before settling back in his chair.

"In the beginning, yes," Eames said. "But then you started showing up without him on occasion, mostly on short affairs- a few days worth of work."

"With you," Ana said. Eames' mouth tilted up. He looked pleased.

"With me," Eames echoed. "You never worked without me or Arthur."

"Was I good at what I did?" Ana asked.

She wanted to keep Eames talking but everything was proving to be a distraction now. There were more families around them with small children but her attention was drawn back to the young mother and the girl and boy. Ana's necklace, hidden underneath her sweater, lay heavy and warm against her chest.

She looked down at Eames' hands, his fingers tapping against the table top, and she imagined she felt a slight ache in her shoulder.

_Sensory memory. My mind is trying to tell me something, remind me of something._

"Oh, you're one of the best though I'm sure Cobb would continue to argue that he is _the_ best," Eames said. "But he got by on mostly charm and trickery in my opinion. I think he's a better architect than he is anything else and he's taken to building again which is good for everyone involved in what we do."

"Cobb?"

"Dominic Cobb," Eames said. "Arthur's… former colleague. He's semi-retired these days. Mostly teaches now but does work for your government as well. I believe Ariadne's been in contact with him so we'll see what he has to say about your situation. "

_Your government._

Ana suddenly felt as if tendrils of things half-remembered were curling around her like wisps of smoke. Circling but never really touching her.

_Things are just out of reach._

"Did I have children?" Ana asked suddenly. "I mean, do I have children?"

Eames looked startled. He shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. He paused and then looked over his shoulder, following her line of sight. The mother was getting ready to leave, zipping her children up in their sweaters and coats and Ana stared at them. They were dark-haired and chubby-cheeked and as she watched, the boy held onto his sister's hand and they both giggled.

_M & M_

_My name is Miranda._

"Do I have a brother?" Ana asked. Eames stiffened and then turned around slowly. His expression was carefully blank but his eyes were anything but. Eames nodded and played with his cup.

"What's his name? Does he live here?" Ana said, sitting up. She smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. Just last night she'd been feeling sorry for herself over being lonely but now she knew wasn't alone. "Is he older or younger? Does he know where I am and what's happened?"

To her surprise, the color drained from Eames' face.

"Ana," Eames said gently and Ana suddenly knew what he was going to say.

_Oh. Oh no. _

_No, Eames._

"His name was Matthew."

"Was." Ana felt faint. The sickening taste of chocolate was thick in her mouth and she swallowed, trying to rid herself of its cloying sweetness. "He's dead?"

Eames hesitated and then nodded.

_I was alone and then I had a brother and now he's gone. _

_All in less than a minute._

But what was more painful was the fact that she couldn't remember his face at all.

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	7. A Job Offer

**A/N: **Another vignette for your reading pleasure.

**A Job Offer**

Ana stood in the shadow of the large elm tree, leaning against the rough bark and smiling at the scene in front of her. Some distance away, children shrieked with delight as they ran around in the park, jumping in and out of the fountain as their parents dutifully watched. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air and a warm breeze rushed past her, causing the leaves above to rustle and her skirt to brush against her bare legs.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was high above in the cloudless sky and she wanted to memorize the scene, a moment of anticipation.

"Ana?"

Ana felt her heart stutter at the low voice behind her and she pressed her hand against her chest to calm herself, feeling unexpectedly chilled with excitement.

_Finally._

She turned around slowly, feeling her heels sink into the grass as she moved and she couldn't help the grin that stretched across her face.

A slender, handsome man stood a few feet away from her with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a light colored shirt underneath. No tie, but his belt and shoes matched perfectly and his cufflinks shone even in the shadow of the tree they stood beneath. His dark hair was cut shorter than she'd ever seen him wear it and he looked at her with a soft, patient expression on his face- one that was so familiar it almost hurt to see.

The faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips and Ana could see the shadows of his dimples threatening to make an appearance.

In that moment, he was perfect. It was like looking at a photograph of the happiest memory she could recall. Everything about him was so crisp and clear and just… _perfect._

_Arthur._

"Is it really you?" she asked. She wanted to touch him but suddenly, she was afraid he would disappear like a wisp of smoke if she reached out for him. "Are you really…"

Arthur laughed and the sound made her feel brave. Ana rushed forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders, unable to contain her happiness.

_He's real. This is real!_

"Yeah, it's me," he said into her ear. She pressed her face against the junction of his neck and shoulder, taking in a deep breath. He smelled like sandalwood and rum, soap and skin; wonderful and real. "It's really me."

Ana let out a soft breath, rubbing her nose against his jaw playfully and she felt his grip on her waist tighten slightly. Arthur was stronger than he looked.

"You've changed but you look exactly the same. How is that possible? How can you be the same and not?"

"Paradox."

She laughed, leaning back to look at his face. His dark eyes were bright and mischievous and he looked young and sweet and boyish despite the lines and fading scars on his face.

"Arthur, it's been years. Where've you been? I've missed you so much."

A few strands of her hair came loose from her bun and before she could reach up, Arthur's fingers were on her face, gentle and warm as he tucked them back behind her ear. She saw him swallow and she realized that he was nervous and trying not to show it. He had grown up since she last saw him; he'd toughened as an adult. She could see it in the way he held himself and for a moment her joy at seeing her old friend faded as she wondered-

_What happened to you?_

"You can't imagine how much I've missed you."

Arthur took a step back and pulled away but kept his hands wrapped around hers. He looked around, his thin face growing serious as he surveyed the scene around them. He looked as if he was searching for something and an odd expression flitted across his features.

_He's on alert but why? _

When he looked back at her he seemed satisfied, as if reassured by what he saw. Ana turned her head to look around but he tugged her forward.

"Let's take a walk," he said, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"We have a lot to talk about."

**###**

"So what do you know about Project Somnacin?"

Ana sat back on the hard wooden bench and shook her head.

"You haven't seen me in ten years and that's the first question you ask?" she said, incredulous. Arthur smiled and shrugged, his dimples softening the hard lines of his face.

"It's been nine years," he said. He tapped the side of his head. "And I'm sure you've already figured out everything you need to know about me."

"Details, Arthur, I know the details," Ana said, frustrated. "Why is it everyone thinks I can read their mind when everything is so obvious? All anyone needs to do is-"

"Look," Arthur finished for her. He stretched out an arm behind her and looked out into the distance. "But not everyone can do what you do."

"I suppose," Ana said. She leaned into his side and poked his ribs, raising an eyebrow when he flinched. "But that's not the point. Just because I can connect the dots doesn't mean I know the _why_. For example, I know you've just gotten back to the states after a few years overseas and you've been playing with guns and other weapons for a long time now. You were in Sardinia last and before that Morocco. But that doesn't mean I know why"

Arthur huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Yeah? What gave it away?"

"Everything gave it away, Arthur! Your hands, your clothes… the way you move, your accent," she said. "Come on, Arthur, tell me. What have you been up to?"

"You're acting as if we didn't keep in touch."

"One-line emails and five minute phone calls don't count."

Arthur finally turned his head to look at her.

"No, I guess they don't," he said. He sighed, a deep heavy sound. "I'm sorry. I should have come to see you sooner but-"

He cut off and she could tell he wanted to say something but held back. She knew that Arthur had been in the army but throughout the years she'd come to the conclusion that he'd left… and perhaps done something bad in the process. The idea that Arthur, who hadn't ever misbehaved as a child and never even had a teenage rebellion, could be involved in something criminal was almost unthinkable.

But Ana knew that people changed and with the evidence presented before her, there was no other conclusion to make.

"Well, I guess it's okay," Ana said. "You had a thrilling life to lead, after all."

Arthur snorted softly and shook his head. "That's one way to put it, sure. But I did want to see you, believe me. I guess I was just waiting for the right time."

"And this is it? Now's the right time?" Ana's curiosity spiked. "You have something you want to tell me."

She paused and then narrowed her eyes, taking in his expression. "Or maybe it's more that there's something you want me to do."

Arthur nodded. He looked around them again and she noted the way his gaze lingered on the people off in the distance. Oddly enough, he seemed to act as if they were possible threats, his body tightening and coiling without actually moving.

_A bit overly suspicious but not jumpy or nervous._

_Odd that._

Ana glanced at the direction of his gaze and sat up a little, frowning.

_There's something _off _about those people. The structure of their faces..._

"But before we get into that, tell me something." Arthur's voice made her turn back towards him. "Project Somnacin. What do you know?"

"I know it existed," she said with a shrug. "It was a military project that involved sharing and manipulating lucid dreams. The things I've heard don't paint a very flattering picture of the venture as a whole. People were hurt during the early stages of development and it's since gone dark. The private sector keeps it alive but the military has disavowed any hand in its genesis. Publically at least."

"That's the gist of it," Arthur said. He looked amused. "They don't tell you G-men much at the Bureau, do they?"

Ana had to laugh.

"Arthur, I'm just a glorified consultant," she said. "I don't go out into the field anymore. I'm just a supervisory agent. No one special."

"Is that how they tell you to describe it?" Arthur said. He was smiling but his tone was serious. " I know you're well-regarded, Ana. You're one of the most sought-after agents at Quantico and you pretty much have your pick of high-profile posts. You have one of the fastest close rates of the decade and you're brought in on cases under TS clearance. Is that what you consider 'no one special'?"

Ana tilted her head to the side and studied him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly Arthur's visit was no longer simply personal. Knowledge was a commodity in her world and she didn't like having her work bleed into other areas of her life.

_Arthur's military intelligence – not just a grunt on the bottom rung._

_He's kept closer tabs on me than he let on._

Ana had made sure to stay out of the limelight and most of her cases were under strict security clearances.

_So how do you know what you do, Arthur? How do you know what the FBI assigns me?_

"I have a feeling that whatever it is you're about to tell me could get me into trouble."

Arthur laughed then and rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly, looking for all the world like the little boy he'd once been.

"Yeah, it could," he said honestly. His expression was open and almost vulnerable. "But you've got to trust me on this one, Ana. I won't let you get in trouble."

For a moment, she remembered how he looked the last time she saw him: the quiet, thoughtful young man who said goodbye one late summer day on her front porch before he left for West Point.

_You hugged me until I couldn't breathe, got into your car and drove away without looking back._

He'd broken her heart the day he left. It was the first time Ana let anyone she loved go and her brother had tried his best to soothe the hurt Arthur had left behind. It wasn't the pain of a lost love or anything shallow like that; it was like losing a limb, an essential part of her. Arthur had been her constant shadow and she'd been his. Matthew was her twin brother but she hadn't had to share Arthur because he was all hers.

And then he was just… _gone_.

Ana tried to keep in touch with him over the following years but it felt as if he'd turned his back on her the minute he graduated with his degree. Oh sure, Arthur had tried as well, mostly through short emails and the occasional phone call, but he grew more distant as the years passed. The numbers he used were always different and the emails had to be encrypted. She never asked why though she'd had her suspicions about his reasons.

_And I never used my resources to find you because you clearly wanted to keep me away._

Ana eventually came to regard Arthur simply as someone she used to know, someone whose voice was more familiar to her than his face. And then a few days ago, he'd reached out to her saying he wanted to meet. Ana had agreed but she hadn't really had faith that Arthur would show up.

_But Arthur made it. He's never broken a promise before so I should have believed him._

"Let's say a position in my field has opened up." Arthur leaned forward so that his face was only a few inches away from hers. "And you have skills that are directly applicable to this position. In fact, I'd say you'd be perfect."

"I already have a job."

"This one is better," he said confidently.

"I can't just walk away from the FBI," Ana said, shaking her head. "I have cases… obligations that are important-"

"I asked you about Project Somnacin because I was a part of it."

Ana drew back in surprise at the admission. "You were one of the seven Miller subjects?"

Arthur grinned. "You know far more than you're letting on, don't you?"

"Arthur, I can't-

"Before you say anything else, let me ask you a question," he said. He looked at her intently, all traces of amusement fading from his face. She suddenly knew, all the way down to her bones, that whatever it was Arthur was about to say would change her life.

_Finally. Something truly interesting. _

"Tell me, Ana- how did we get here?"

###

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	8. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Apologies for the long delay. Work/life has been busy! I'll try to crank these out sooner rather than later so thanks for being patient!

**Chapter 6**

_I had a brother._

Ana stood in the bathroom of the new suite at _Le Royal Monceau_ and upended the contents of her bag on the counter. She kept her gaze down and away from her reflection and tried not to think about the last time she'd been in a bathroom with so many mirrors.

"Hey, Ana?" Ariadne's voice was muffled through the thick door. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can help with?"

"I'm fine!" Ana called out, shoving her bag out of the way. She pushed everything around until everything was neatly laid out before her. "I just need a moment to myself. I'm okay."

But she was lying.

Ana was _furious. _

After the revelation at the café, Eames had clammed up, trying to redirect Ana's attention elsewhere. The only thing Eames would admit to was that Matthew had been her older twin; something that made Ana even more determined to learn more about him. But Eames wouldn't yield.

As a result, the walk to the hotel had been silent and tense. She felt betrayed though she knew that she had no right to expect he would help her- if anything, Arthur and Eames had both been _managing_ her for the past 24 hours.

Still, she felt that Eames wanted to tell her more about herself but for some reason, Matthew was off limits for the time being.

"It's all you need to know for now." Eames had said firmly. As if he had a timeline, as if he-

_He has no right. It's my brother, I should know about him._

Ana closed her eyes and reached up to touch the necklace under her sweater, feeling the hard locket beneath her fingertips. _M & M_- her totem had to do with her brother; they must have been close. And they were twins for god's sake. Ana had felt nothing when Eames had said his name and that bothered her. There was only curiosity but no sadness, no real grief at the fact that her twin brother was dead.

_He deserves to be remembered. Even if I can't truly mourn him, I should at least know who he was. _

Eames' decision to withhold information was an insult to her brother. It was also an indication that his death may have had something to do with her current situation.

_Arthur thinks I did something to myself._

_I was in trouble a few months ago but Eames and Arthur had "taken care of it."_

Did Matthew have something to do with that trouble? Was he the reason Arthur suspected she'd harmed herself intentionally?

"He didn't even stick around," Ana said out loud. She opened her eyes and stared at the objects on the counter. "Coward."

Eames had left shortly after dropping her off at the suite, saying that he had a few loose ends to tie up but that he'd be back before Arthur and Yusuf arrived. Ariadne and Miron had already set up Miron's lab space and Ana knew they'd both been asked to keep an eye on her.

But as soon as the front door was shut behind Eames, Ana had fled to the bathroom, needing to be alone. Besides, now that she was away from Arthur and Eames, she felt as if she could really concentrate. Being angry wasn't going to help matters so she decided to really put an effort into figuring out just who exactly she was. Eames and Arthur were more concerned about the _how_ and Ana opted to let them deal with that. After all, they obviously didn't need her help.

Ana pushed aside the frustration and confusion and focused on the items in front of her.

A set of keys including one for a car, large pocketbook, U.S. passport, notebook and pen, mobile, a small book called Einstein's Dreams, and a couple of receipts.

_Not a lot of stuff considering the size of the bag._

Ana picked up the passport and opened it.

_Analiese Keller. Born in San Francisco, CA. Date of Birth 5-13-1982. Date of Issue 1-25-2011_

_Stamps from Russia, Germany, Iceland and the U.S. _

Another fake identity. Ana tossed the passport back in the bag, disgusted. She'd entered the country under an alias so technically she was already a criminal. She picked up the pocketbook next and studied the outside carefully before undoing the clasp, digging through the slots as best she could. It was new and the pockets didn't have much stretch so she'd likely only used it once or twice; the gold clasp had only a couple of scratches on its surface.

Inside, there were only a fake ID and a few credit cards bearing the name on the passport. Her eyes widened when she saw the sheaf of loose bills tucked in the outside pocket.

_Over a thousand Euros_, she thought.

_Interesting. _

She put the pocketbook away and then moved onto the mobile. It was a smartphone, a bit on the heavy side which was unusual. She held it up to eye level and frowned- it seemed thicker than the phone that Eames had and they were the same brand. Probably a work phone, possibly government- issued with extra security or tracking features. Though she knew it was a risk, she pressed a button… and groaned in frustration.

_Passcode locked._

But it looked as if she could access unopened messages- there were 24 unread texts. She scrolled through them and saw that the majority had come from someone listed as Gideon.

She frowned as she began to read each message, feeling a growing sense of unease. The earliest were dated three days prior:

_where are you? wellers said you took the week off for an emergency_

_what's wrong? _

_give me a call- I want to help_

They became more urgent and panicked as time passed-

_what are you doing? don't do anything stupid_

_is it about arthur? _

_Did he get you into trouble again? let me help_

And then in the past 12 hours-

_got a hit from dulles- someone matched your descrip. headed for paris _

_left the country- are you in trouble? _

_don't trust arthur don't listen to him _

_i thought you were out_

_avery called me. said you came to see him and he's worried_

And then, most troubling-

_i'm coming after you- don't leave paris_

That was the last message, sent yesterday night. Ana thought quickly; given the time difference, if Gideon was traveling from Dulles as she apparently had, he would arrive in Paris later that night. She put the mobile away with a trembling hand. She felt like prey being pursued- even though she didn't know who Gideon was, a feeling of dread settled heavy in her stomach. The tone of the texts made it sound as if … as if she were …

_In danger being around Arthur and by extension, Eames and everyone else. _

The area code from Gideon's number and Dulles airport signaled Washington. Ana stared down at the heavy phone in her hand and put it back in the bag, thoughtful.

_Wherever it is I was from, I left in a rush. I even took a week off from… work?_

_I work in Washington? _

The compass in her head was spinning, unable to decide on a point. She needed more information. Ana set the mobile aside and quickly assessed the keys and receipts.

The receipts were for a taxi from the airport- she'd arrived late the night before yesterday which meant she really had just flown in.

_Explains why I didn't unpack._

The keys were older, used frequently and American. No keychain or anything that might point to a location or personality quirk.

She quickly pushed them aside and then picked up the book and flipped through it, raising her eyebrows when she caught highlighted passages. One in particular caught her eye. It was highlighted like the others but it was also underlined:

"_The tragedy of this world is that no one is happy, whether stuck in a time of pain or of joy. The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present. Each person who gets stuck in time gets stuck alone."_

And in a scrawl underneath, Ana read:

_Not if the dreamer isn't aware of the dream. Not if the dream feels like reality._

_Dr. Janus said it shouldn't be done. But he also said it was POSSIBLE._

Ana closed the book slowly. It felt as if she had seen something private though she knew rationally that she must have written the words. The handwriting was feminine, the characters slanted slightly to the right but the script was scribbled in, as if she'd lost control of her pen and sloped downward. She plucked the pen from beside the notebook and copied the sentence on the page.

The handwriting was hers.

_Graphology isn't exactly a science but based on the erratic writing, disturbed baseline- whoever I was, I wasn't happy_, Ana thought as she put the book down.

She put it aside to read through closely later and then picked up the notebook. She flipped through it quickly but found that only one page had been written on.

_Noon._

_Lycée International of St Germain-en-Laye_

_Rue du Fer à Cheval BP 5230_

_St Germain-en-Laye_

"I was gone for three hours yesterday," Ana muttered. She put the notebook down.

_Chalk and chocolate._

_Lycée._

_A school._

Ana glanced at the closed door thoughtfully.

_**###**_

"…so we eliminate the possibility of a defective formula first," Arthur said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was headed back to the city from the airport and he stared at the road ahead as he went over their next steps with Yusuf.

"Look over Miron's notes. I'll go under using the batch that Ana tested while you replicate the formula from his notes. We'll test that version with Eames. If we find that Miron's formula was sound, then Eames and I will go under with her. I'll need you to make something that will keep Ana's subconscious pliant, if that's the case."

"You're afraid that she'll attack you if you share a dream," Yusuf said beside him in the passenger seat.

Arthur sighed and looked at the other man. Yusuf gazed back at him with an expression of undisguised pity. "You militarized her, did you not? You know what she is capable of."

Arthur bit back his response to the faint dig and drummed his fingers on the wheel. Yusuf was a brilliant chemist- greedy but more trustworthy than most of the people he had worked with since he started in the business. Arthur knew exactly where he stood with Yusuf. His compounds were second to none and Arthur wouldn't even consider working with anyone else to try and unravel their current situation.

But Yusuf was Eames' man and his loyalties, as subtle as they ran, were to the other man. He was here on behalf of Eames; Arthur could not let himself forget that.

"How much do you know about the Lewis job?" he asked.

Yusuf shrugged. "I've heard enough."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm not entirely sure why Ana is working with you again."

Arthur snorted. "And you don't question the same with Eames?"

"Eames played his role. He knows this," Yusuf said. "But simple hatred can be overcome, unlike betrayal. First and foremost Ana's faith was with you."

_Right, and I shattered that faith, didn't I? _

Arthur looked away and closed his mouth, clenching his jaw as he drove.

"So we have to rule out biology first," he said, after a brief silence. "After that, then we can consider… we can consider other options."

"She remembers everything but herself," Yusuf mused. "She knows the year but not her age. She knows cities but not her name. She is aware of the world but she reacts negatively to her own reflection. Arthur, there's a high probability that this is the first, true example of a willful Pur-"

"It's not possible." Arthur shook his head adamantly. "Not like this. Something of this level, this _scope _requires a level of sophistication and experience in dream-share that Ana doesn't have."

"She is a very smart woman with deep resources."

"But it's too specific," Arthur said. "Look, memories are cross-linked. Everyone knows this. You try and Purge one category of information- a single memory, even one hour's worth- and associated memories are either lost or become incomplete. You try and do something like that in a dream, a wholesale Purge like that of the _self_, and one wrong move could have you waking up a drooling idiot."

And it was true; Arthur had seen it happen. While dream-share had come out of the military, there were certain groups that used it for therapeutic purposes. Topside, it was still an experimental device but psychologists and psychotherapists were beginning to use the PASIV to help people recover from neurological and psychological trauma.

One highly controversial use was the Purging of intense emotions related to a memory or the memory itself. It was a hotly debated topic since some psychologists were advocating Purging in dealing with people who suffered from multiple personality disorder. Integration was barely accepted as a form of therapy- Purging was the wholesale deletion of alters. No one was sure it was even possible but Arthur knew people would find a way…

_And it's not even a true Purge- it's more of a disintegration of a personality._

As if the mind could cannibalize itself.

But that was all theory, of course. As Yusuf had said, Ana was smart but there was no way she could do this to herself. She wasn't trained to play with the mind…

"…_deep resources…"_

And yet?

Arthur drew in a deep breath. He knew that rage and guilt and grief could drive a person to unimaginable actions.

_Dom was willing to sacrifice all of us to Limbo in order to get home. _

_How far would Ana go?_

_How far _has_ she gone?_

"There's a man in the states," Yusuf said blithely, unaware of Arthur's racing thoughts. "Doctor Levi Deckard. He recently wrote a paper on distorted perceptions of the self; diseases like the Cotard Delusion or Anton's Syndrome. The latter part of his paper dealt with the fact that the brain has several gauges. One of these gauges that Deckard hypothesizes measures existence_._"

"Christ, Ana knows she _exists_ and she knows, or she at least believes us when we tell her she's not dreaming," Arthur said. "She doesn't have a problem with the reality of herself."

"You didn't let me finish," Yusuf said. Arthur saw him wave his hand around from the corner of his eye.

"His point was that the brain can track itself. Memories may be interconnected but what if… just what if someone could take the sum of their parts- the memories that make them who they are- and contain them into one projection?"

"Bullshit. It's impossible."

"People thought inception was impossible until we did it. Many people still do even though it's been years."

Arthur let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Say you're right- say it can be done. Bottom-line is that it's still theory. There's no process laid out- at least with inception, we understood how to lay the groundwork for an idea."

He glanced at Yusuf and shook his head again.

"Combining all of those elements, all of these distributed memories into one, consolidated projection is… it goes beyond the mind, Yusuf. You're talking neurology and none of us is equipped to deal with that, least of all Ana. She's had other things to worry about in the past few months."

"I think, my friend, you'd be surprised at what desperate people are willing to do," Yusuf said, almost gently. "Sometimes, reality can be a far more frightening prospect than dreams and with what she went through, I can only-"

"You don't know anything about what happened," Arthur said flatly. "So let me worry about what Ana may or may not have done. You worry about Miron's formula and if it comes down to it, ensure that we can enter a dream without Ana turning on us."

"As you wish," Yusuf said simply.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something else, to tell Yusuf to keep his mouth shut around Ana, when his phone rang. He reached out and tapped his phone screen, which was propped up in a slot on the dashboard.

He frowned when he saw the caller's name. He glanced at Yusuf and hit the answer button.

"Ariadne?" Arthur said, sitting up straight.

"Arthur!" Ariadne's voice was strained and when she spoke her words were said in a breathless rush. "Arthur, oh thank God. Eames isn't answering his phone and I've been trying to call him because I figured that you were still at the airport and couldn't-"

"Ariadne, what's wrong?" Arthur asked.

"Arthur, it's Ana… she's gone."

**###**

**Thanks for reading- please read/review! **


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Ana tipped the cab driver and clutched her notebook and pocketbook as she watched him drive away. Her hands ached and itched but she curled her fingers in tightly, needing something familiar to hold on to.

When the black cab was gone, she turned around to face the school.

_Lycée International of St Germain-en-Laye._

It was an imposing sight; all red bricks and black wrought metal, surrounded by tall, sturdy trees that were already beginning to lose their golden-red leaves. For a moment, Ana stood frozen, unable to move. Fear and indecision suddenly took over her and she stared at the front entrance in a daze.

_I'm here now. This is what I wanted to do._

Seeing the address in her notebook, in her handwriting, had propelled her forward but she was beginning to feel doubt chip away at her formerly solid resolve.

_Maybe I should have brought Ariadne…_

But Ana knew the other woman would not have gone with her. It had been surprisingly easy to slip away. She knew from Miron's reaction the day before that he felt badly about her situation and he would be fairly easy to manipulate. All she'd needed to do was wet her bandages and walk out to ask him to get her new ones. A quick study of the bathroom showed that Ariadne hadn't replenished their medical supplies so it was an innocuous enough request. Miron hurried out the door on the errand and Ariadne had gone on sketching in her chair.

Ana waited a minute and then two before acting as if she'd forgotten to ask Miron for something else. She left her bag behind on the table and her jacket on the couch- visible signs of her return, hiding her notebook and her pocketbook in front of her as she hurried out the door presumably after Miron.

Ariadne had been flustered, scrambling to her feet-

"_Ana, you shouldn't… I can get him, he's probably-"_

"_No, no," Ana said, smiling apologetically as she hurried towards the door. "I'm sure I can catch him. Do you want anything while he's out? Magazines? Books? If we have to stay here all day, we may as well enjoy it, right?"_

-but she hadn't gone after her. Instead, Ariadne sat down again and smiled, shaking her head.

Ana had pegged her right after all; Ariadne was indignant at having to play babysitter and she was offended on Ana's behalf at being treated like an invalid. Her youthful appearance would have likely caused her to be sensitive to age-dynamics and it had been clear that she didn't want to treat Ana the same way Arthur and Eames did.

After leaving the room and making sure Miron was out of sight, it had only taken a few minutes to hail a cab and thrust the address in her notebook at the driver.

"And here I am," Ana muttered. She curled into herself a little and closed her eyes briefly.

_I need to move,_she thought. _If I stop and think too long, if I let myself be afraid, Arthur and Eames will catch up with me somehow._

She thought about the texts from her phone and stood up straight.

_And who knows who they really are? I may have known Arthur since childhood but that doesn't mean he's safe._

_Even if I_feel_as if I should trust him, it doesn't mean I should._

A sudden breeze whipped around her and she shivered violently, missing the thick coat Eames had given her. The sun was high in the blue sky but there was a definite chill in the air. Ana looked back at the road behind her and then towards the entrance again. Even if she wanted to go back to the hotel, she didn't have a phone. She would have to go into the school and ask for help.

Or she could go into the school, retrace her steps and reclaim her life.

There was nowhere else for her to go but forward.

**###**

"Miss Keller, back so soon?"

Ana looked up sharply, holding her belongings against her chest like a shield. She forced herself to smile at the woman walking towards her and nodded.

"I guess I can't stay away," Ana said faintly. She looked around to gather her thoughts.

After a short walk up a gravel path, Ana had found the entrance doors wide open. She had stepped into a large, empty foyer surrounded by glass cases that were filled with trophies and plaques. It was stately and elegant and Ana felt out of place amongst the group photos of children and various national flags on the walls.

Though she couldn't see the office from where the woman must have emerged, she did notice the discreet black cameras set in the high corners.

_They must have seen me coming._

The thought that she was being watched did nothing for her nerves.

The woman stopped and smiled up at Ana- she was older, perhaps in her late 40's, and dressed in dark, crisp jeans and a cashmere sweater. A pearl necklace adorned her neck and Ana glanced down at her hands before looking back up at the woman's eyes.

She had a sophisticated air about her, as if she were dressing down the best way she knew how. But there was also an almost fond look in her eyes as she studied Ana that made her feel as if she were a curiosity being studied. The use of the last name made Ana realize that she had lied to the woman the day before and she wondered what other bits of information she had passed along.

_Best not to say too much then._

"Forgive me," the woman said, after a brief silence. She clasped her hands together. "You just… you seem so much more relaxed today than you were yesterday- what a lovely smile! I guess seeing Peter has done you some good, no? You were here for quite a bit."

There was a faint lilt to her words and Ana suspected that English wasn't her first language… or even her second. It made sense, of course- it was an international school.

Ana decided that she'd let the woman talk. It seemed she was a bit of a chatterer and that could only work in her favor. And Ana had clearly made an impression on her.

"I haven't seen, um, Peter in a while," Ana said and the woman nodded.

"Yes, he told me after you left- old friends you were. Worked in the states together now, didn't you?" the woman said. Ana gave a half shrug, not wanting to say yes or no, and the woman beamed. She reached out and took hold of Ana's upper arm. "Well, we're glad he decided to give up the service to work here. He's wonderful at languages and the older dears love having a psychology elective now."

Ana forced herself not to start in surprise and she allowed the woman to pull her down a darkened hallway of closed doors. Their footsteps echoed on the polished wooden floors and she could hear the faint sounds of children behind the doors.

_Peter… Avery?… teaches languages and psychology._

_And I used to work with him. I saw him yesterday._

Not for the first time did Ana wonder just who the hell she was.

"This is his quiet period so you came just in time," the woman said, stopping at a closed door with a frosted window. Before Ana could say anything, she opened the door after a staccato of knocks and called into the room cheerfully, "Peter, Ana has returned!"

Ana heard a shuffle and then a startled gasp from within the room and the woman turned to her and winked. She gestured for Ana to walk in but Ana hesitated.

"Perhaps I should come back later," Ana said, falteringly. "If he's busy, I mean…"

"Nonsense!" the woman said. She pushed the door open wider and looked at the person within. "Peter, now don't just stand there gaping. Come greet your friend."

Ana heard shuffling once again and she realized that whoever Peter was, he was probably using a cane. She hurried to the door, feeling slightly guilty and blinked when she saw the man in the office.

The woman patted her arm and then gently pushed her inside.

"Go ahead and catch up for as long as you need- Peter doesn't have class until later this afternoon," she said. Ana glanced back and realized that she was closing the door behind her. "Maybe he could show you around the campus this time. His office is far too stuffy to be comfortable after all, and it is such a lovely day."

She gave Ana one more pat on the arm before pulling the door closed. Ana heard her hum to herself as she walked away.

"Again, I'm sorry about that," Peter said. He was American but there was a hint of an accent to his words- Southern, perhaps. Ana turned back to him slowly as he spoke. "Jeannine can be a bit much."

"Her husband died recently," Ana said. She took in the details of him and then looked around his office quickly. There was a chalkboard on one wall and beneath it, a small crystal bowl of wrapped chocolates. Pieces of broken chalk lay haphazardly next to the bowl. "She's lonely. And she thinks you are too."

Peter exhaled softly. He turned his back on her and moved slowly to his seat behind a big cherry wood desk, covered in scattered papers and a large day calendar, and sighed heavily as he sat down, still holding on to his black cane.

"Well," he replied, "She does have radar for the broken ones. I suppose it's why she latched onto you so quickly."

Ana stared at him.

**###**

"You didn't think to go with her?" Arthur asked, incredulous. He rubbed his forehead as he watched Ariadne's face turn red.

"She's a grown woman, Arthur," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not keeping her on a leash just because you and Eames are paranoid."

"Well, clearly we were right to be paranoid," he said. He began to pace in the suite as Yusuf spoke to Miron a few feet away. They had gotten back to the hotel ten minutes earlier and Arthur made Ariadne tell her tale of Ana's escape twice. He was annoyed, to say the least, but most of all he was worried. "She's out there by herself, Ariadne, in a city she doesn't know."

"Well, it's your paranoia that probably made her want to get out. You can't keep her prisoner here-"

"We weren't-"

"Yes, you were, Arthur," Ariadne said. Her fear from earlier was gone and now she was just a little defensive. "And maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to get out of here if you had just told her more about herself instead of just throwing her in a room and telling her to sit and stay."

Arthur let out a loud breath and looked around the room. He saw Ana's bag and coat from that morning and stomped towards it, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves as he moved.

He was done arguing with Ariadne, mostly because he knew it was futile. Ariadne was right in a sense- they had inadvertently treated Ana like a child when the truth was that Ana was smarter and skilled in ways that could have made her a threat.

_She must have been that upset if she would risk leaving the only familiar place, _Arthur thought.

Ana wasn't a risk-taker. She may have been impulsive at times but her overriding nature was to be methodical and careful. If she left her sanctuary, she had a plan. And when Ana had a plan, that usually meant she had notes.

"I called Eames," Ariadne said softly, when Arthur started to dig through the bag Ana left behind. "He didn't respond so I left a few messages and texts."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"He said he was going to tie up loose ends," Ariadne shrugged. She sat down in the seat next to where he stood. "I'm sorry. I… I know you care about her. I didn't mean to imply you didn't."

Arthur's hands didn't shake as he pulled out a small book. "You're her friend," he said steadily. "You were only trying to defend Ana. And you're right- she doesn't like being restrained. I should have known better."

Ariadne didn't respond and Arthur chalked it up to silent agreement. He flipped through the book in his hands, frowning at the highlighted text. He was familiar with the stories and it didn't help to settle his fears.

Each story was a small snapshot of lives warped by time, of the blurred line between dreams and reality. Not Ana's normal fare; she usually tended towards non-fiction, biographies and historical analysis. Even as a child, she had discarded fairy tales, instead reaching for their school textbooks.

_Matt was more into fiction._

Arthur was suddenly sure that this was Ana's brother's book and he closed it, feeling ill. He put the book on the table and pulled out her phone. He knew it was passcode locked; the Bureau provided their agents with specialized devices so that people like him couldn't gain access to information he shouldn't have.

He studied the phone, holding it up to eye level and was confident that he could unlock it. His laptop was still cycling through the program he finished last night but it would be done soon. All he needed to do was find a cord and he could borrow Eames' and…

One text had been left opened on the screen and he stared at the words until they began to blur.

_"i'm coming after you- don't leave paris"_

Arthur felt his throat constrict. The sender was…

_Fuck. Gideon tracked her down._

"Arthur?" Ariadne said. "What's wrong? That's her phone isn't it?"

"Yeah," Arthur said. He glanced up at Ariadne and then back at Yusuf and Miron. "Which alias did you book this suite under?"

Ariadne blinked. "The Larksher one. Eames forged it for me right before the job so it's untraceable."

"Good. That's… good," Arthur said. He gripped the phone tightly, his mind racing through next steps. "Try Eames again, this time on his burn phone. We need to get a hold of him and we can't afford to wait until he gets back."

"What-"

"I'm going to go downstairs and talk to the doorman," Arthur went on. "He might have an idea of where she went. We need to find her and soon."

"Okay, but-"

"Please, just call Eames." Arthur threw Ana's phone back in her bag and began to head towards the door, ignoring Ariadne's unspoken question. There had been no wallet, no notebook in her bag but Arthur knew that Ana would have had those simple necessities while traveling. That meant she likely had money, which complicated their situation even more.

And now that Gideon was on his way…

_He'll arrive tonight so we need to get out of here, go underground until we can figure out what to do next._

His hand was on the knob when he heard Ariadne's phone go off. He paused and turned around as she answered it and he took a step back when she held up her hand in a signal to stop.

"Eames!" Ariadne said into the phone. She looked at Arthur as she spoke, walking towards him with wide eyes. "Where have you been? I've been trying to… yeah, he's here. You need to get back to the hotel because… okay, okay, I will."

He took her phone when she held it out to him.

"I got Ariadne's messages. Do you have any bloody idea where Ana could have gone?" Eames' voice was angry and Arthur could hear the buzz of a crowd behind him.

"I'm going to check downstairs now, see if the doorman saw her," Arthur said. Miron was waving his hands in the air excitedly and Yusuf was nodding. He hoped that they were onto something good. "Where are you?"

"I checked in with some of my contacts from the states," Eames said. "They heard that Ana's got a tail."

"Gideon's on his way. I found her phone. He texted her."

Eames swore and Arthur heard him breathing heavily. It was likely that he was walking quickly. "That's not all. There's a retired agent here- goes by the name Peter Avery. He's apparently a teacher now."

"I know of him," Arthur said. "He was her partner before Gideon. He was hurt a few years back but I didn't know he moved here. I stopped keeping tabs on him after he retired."

"Right then. Too much of a coincidence, don't you think? Ana disappears for hours yesterday and her old partner just happens to work at a school only a few miles away. What else do you know about him?"

Arthur frowned. "Good agent. Ana liked him. He got hurt on a job while she was with me- I think she felt guilty about not being there for him. He has advanced degrees in psychology. In fact, some of his research before the Bureau was on…"

Arthur sucked in a cold breath as the realization hit.

"Arthur. What?"

"Avery's grad research focused on memories and dreams. Some of his work was used for the original dream-share project. He even worked with Reed Janus while he was at the Bureau."

"The therapist?"

Arthur closed his eyes.

"The memory specialist."

**###**

"Do you want something to drink? Eat? I have a few cookies here… somewhere." Peter looked around his desk with a faint frown and Ana shook her head.

"No, thank you."

He looked up and smiled slightly, gesturing at a chair near the window. "Well, at least have a seat, Ana."

Ana nodded and sat down, closing her notebook and hiding it behind her wallet. She studied him closely.

She was surprised at how young he seemed, though she didn't have much in the way of expectations. He had dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes and his mouth seemed permanently set in a half-smile. There was a vaguely rumpled air about him- his tweed blazer was wrinkled and his shirt was worn and old.

Unlike Eames and Arthur though, he seemed to genuinely not care about his appearance. She could detect no artifice in his demeanor; instead there was a confidence about him, a quiet steady poise that she was drawn to.

_No wonder he's a teacher,_Ana thought.

He shifted a little in his seat and she determined from the calluses on his hand and the way he moved that his right hip had been injured, perhaps two or three years before. He was tall and sturdy, if a little on the thin side, but his shoulders and chest were broad. He had likely been very physically active up until the moment of his injury.

He was a big reader: his moderately-sized office was packed with books and she saw old and new texts on shelves and tables and even the floor. There were pictures in frames and Ana tried her best not to react as she saw herself in a few of them.

Even though she wanted to pepper him with questions, to demand answers from him, she forced herself to remain quiet. Despite his unassuming manner, Ana didn't trust him yet.

She had to tread very, very carefully.

Ana recalled Jeannine's words-

…_you seem so much more relaxed today than you were yesterday…_

-and noted the faint wariness underneath the warmth of Peter's gaze. She sat up and tilted her head slightly, seeing the wariness grow.

"I'm surprised you came back," Peter said. He bit his bottom lip a little and then smiled again. "I mean, after yesterday and all."

"You called Gideon."

Peter blinked and then nodded, momentarily thrown. "I thought he should know. He's been so worried about you these past few months. We all have."

"He said he's on his way here."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I can't say I'm surprised. You know how Gideon is. I didn't tell him about Arthur though but I think he figured out that you were with him anyway. Quite frankly Ana, I think you should just go home."

"Go back to Washington, you mean," Ana said, narrowing her eyes.

"That's still home, isn't it?" Peter said. He looked sad. "Just because Matt is… isn't there anymore, doesn't mean it's not home."

"Is that why you called Gideon?" Ana asked. "To have him bring me back?"

"We both know that Gideon can't make you do anything you don't want to," Peter said. "But yes, I was hoping he'd talk to you. Just calm you down a little. He's your partner so maybe you'd listen to him... I don't know. You were so upset yesterday and then you just ran out…"

He ran his fingers through his hair and Ana was surprised to see his hand shake a little.

"I'm glad it didn't work," Peter said suddenly. "I'm glad you're here. I think maybe now you can work on moving on. I know it's been a hard year and I get why you wanted what you did. I can't even begin to understand or even know what you're going through but I think, if I could, I would have done the same."

"Oh?"

"But it was a bad idea to begin with. You know that now, don't you?" Peter said earnestly. "Pushing aside the fact that it couldn't work… Ever since Matthew died, it's like you just shut down. You went back to work only a week after you got out of the hospital and it was like you were this ticking time bomb waiting to go off. But you never did. You never healed. You just walked around like an open, festering wound."

He leaned his elbows on the table, staring at her face. "So I get it. You wanted to forget but that didn't work, did it? I hope this is the first step in you getting better because watching you get caught up in this revenge fantasy…"

"Revenge?" Ana repeated, unable to hide her surprise. The conversation was getting away from her but the implications were there, a series of dots waiting to be connected. Ana was almost afraid of the picture that was slowly emerging. "That's a harsh word for it, isn't it?"

"Ana, you were ready to cut your nose to spite your face," Peter retorted sharply. For the first time, his amiable demeanor fell away and there was a sliver of anger in his eyes. "Come on now, it wasn't just about forgetting and making the pain go away. You wanted to hurt the people responsible for your brother's death. Why else would you be working with those men again?"

It took all the concentration she had to will her face not to react.

_Oh my god._

_That's what they're both hiding from me._

_Eames and Arthur…_

"I mean, I don't know the whole story," Peter went on. "But the way Gideon tells it Arthur and that other one, the Brit, they were bad news all along. If I had known then what I know now... I've been thinking about it all day. But why are you with them again? It isn't just access to the PASIV you wanted. I know you could have found someone back in the states, if that was your only goal. I may not be as good a profiler as you are but it was obvious you were gunning for them this whole time."

_I'm a profiler._

_That explains the government tie._

Ana mentally reeled from the revelations Peter casually dropped but she knew she didn't have time to catch her breath or regroup. Soon Peter would realize that Ana had no idea what was going on and she would be damned if she didn't take as much information from him as she could.

_Arthur was right. I did something to myself yesterday… something that made me forget my entire life._

_And it was all for revenge._

"You really think I could have hurt them?" Ana asked. "Just by forgetting who they were or who I was? How could something like that that possibly affect them?"

Peter huffed out a short laugh. "Gideon told me about that first night at the hospital when he finally got to you. You probably don't remember anything because you were unconscious for most of it. Gideon almost arrested Arthur because he threatened the guards for not letting him in your room and the British guy-"

"Eames."

"Eames, then. He nearly tore the waiting room apart." Peter fell quiet for a moment. "Emotions were running high that night."

"It doesn't mean anything," Ana said. She curled her hands into tight fists. "It doesn't explain anything."

"You don't act like that if you don't care about someone," Peter said. His blue eyes studied her face intently. "It was clear to Gideon, anyway. He told me- Arthur was the one who called him. Eames brought you in, in his arms. Those two men felt strongly about you and at one point, you cared for them both. You maybe even…well, you loved them. But you wanted to hurt them now. I don't blame you."

He lowered his eyes then and a strange expression flitted across his face. He frowned deeply, and clumsily got to his feet.

"Ana... your hands. What happened to your hands?"

**###**

**Thanks for reading- please read/review!**


	10. Chapter 8

**A/N:**This chapter is a bit wordy. I'm trying not to give away too much but at the same time, I want to make sure you lovely folks understand where the characters are coming from. Let me know if it's too much/too little- love hearing from you guys!

Also, Eames as an architect? Why not? Remember, he was the one who advised Ariadne to add a shortcut in the hospital level. I don't see him going to architecture school exactly but he's a creative thinker. I would imagine that he can build dream levels just as easily as he can build _people._Or maybe I'm just reading too much into his name.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! The next chapter will be a vignette and it will look into some of the jobs they worked on together.

**Chapter 8:**

Gideon Klein was a dangerous blend of ambition, intelligence and ruthlessness, with a stubborn streak that could have been seen as obsessive. Once he latched onto something- a minor detail on a case or a possible suspect, he pursued it relentlessly. He was territorial and possessive; he was Ana's partner.

Arthur thought he was a lunatic.

It was only Ana's influence that kept Gideon from going after Arthur and tearing through the dream-share world. Now, with her memory loss, Arthur knew that Gideon would be like a rabid dog off its leash. When he found out what had happened to her and who was involved…

"Slow down," Eames said tightly from the passenger seat. Arthur glanced at him. Though he was in a characteristic slouch, his expression was tense. "We'll be no good if we get pulled over for speeding. It'll be easier for Klein to track us down."

Arthur eased off the gas but gripped the wheel as he drove to the school where Avery worked. It was lucky that the hotel doorman had flagged down a cab for _mademoiselle_and he'd seen the address she had given the driver. However, time was against them. It had been an hour since Ana's escape. She could have easily left the school grounds by now and Arthur wasn't sure if Avery would be inclined to talk to them.

_He may have been working with her this whole time,_Arthur thought.

_He may have helped her do… whatever it was she did to herself._

Peter Avery was a good man but he'd been an indirect casualty of Arthur's work. As Ana became more embedded in dream-share, she slowly pulled away from her work. As a profiler, Ana had a certain freedom that Avery didn't have but they had been tight. Arthur knew that Ana usually accompanied him during investigations but after Arthur's reappearance into her life, she'd drawn back.

The end for Avery came when Ana had chosen a job from Arthur over an active case.

_It wasn't her fault. Avery should have been more careful._

He'd gotten shot while Ana had been on a job with Arthur in Brussels and his injury was bad enough to put him out of commission permanently.

_She never got over the guilt._

At the time, Arthur had considered it a point in his favor. While Ana had done well for herself at the FBI, he knew that her talents were being wasted there. As a child, she'd marveled over the great explorers and adventurers of times past- Arthur wanted to be the one to bring her that sort of life.

It was one of the reasons why he'd kept tabs on her for so many years.

Yet he was a practical man and knew that eventually it would come down to her choice: he could show her the possibilities that awaited her but she had to choose him first. The more dreams Ana entered with him, the further away she withdrew from reality.

And in the beginning, Arthur was perfectly fine with the way things were.

_And then it all started going bad, _he thought grimly.

Things began to sour soon after Avery's replacement had arrived. A series of circumstances unrelated but significant followed one after another, and Ana had begun to retreat.

_...St. Petersburg..._

All told, it had taken little less than a year for Ana to turn away from dream-share completely, even with Eames at her heels. Arthur had let her go but he had had a glimmer of hope she'd return. He'd been convinced that all she needed was time, the itch would come back, the urge to create, to _see _clearer-

But then the Lewis job had happened.

"And what exactly did the steering wheel do to you?"

Eames's voice drew Arthur out of his thoughts. With a scowl, Arthur looked down. He was clutching the steering wheel so tightly now that his fingernails dented the surface like talons in flesh.

Arthur was suddenly overcome by the urge to strike the other man.

Eames had played his own part in their current circumstances. Capricious but brilliant, he was a Renaissance man of sorts. He was the best forger Arthur had ever worked with but it was well known he could also extract and build.

_Creation_, though, was his first love.

As an architect, Eames wasn't quite up to Cobb or Ariadne's technical skills but he was always keen to develop what inherent gifts he had. Eames could create fantastical worlds that went above and beyond mere office buildings and cities. However, it was difficult to forge, extract _and_ build at the same time.

Like Arthur, Eames only wanted to work with the best. He may not have liked Eames personally but he respected his abilities. Mere competence wasn't enough for men like them.

After Eames worked with Ana the first time, Arthur knew he'd made a tactical mistake. Eames was an opportunist and once he witnessed Ana's abilities, as raw as they were back then, merely aligning himself with her would not be enough.

Arthur really should have known better.

It soon became clear that Eames wanted to take what Arthur waited so patiently and worked so hard to secure - an exclusive partnership with the best extractor. Not only would it generate more interesting jobs and more money, it would give him the chance to improve his other skills. When Cobb left, Arthur had paved the way to establish Ana as the clear successor.

Eames was a thief, pure and simple and he'd inserted himself between Arthur and Ana like a crowbar. Not content as a freelancer, he'd wanted to force Arthur out of his own enterprise. Their world was fraught with wary partnerships and political motivations; teams formed and disbanded and the best workers climbed over the fallen bodies of their former colleagues.

Eames had manipulated Ana. As Arthur had scrambled to repair the cracks that had formed between them, Eames stepped in and-

_He played me to get to her. I pushed her too hard, too fast and..._

Arthur clenched his jaw as he drove.

_And I made it too easy for him. For too long, I made it easy for him._

But now… now he had an opportunity to set things right. Maybe, just maybe, he could undo a little of the damage they had inflicted on her.

_I'll let her go this time._

_I'll make sure nothing touches her and I'll walk away._

_I won't make the same mistake twice._

"What are you planning?" Eames said, in a deceptively innocent tone. Arthur didn't have to turn his head to know that the other man was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I know that look. What are you thinking?"

Arthur didn't bother to look at him. "None of your fucking business."

Eames tutted at him. "Language, Arthur," he said. His voice was serious when he spoke next. "According to my sources, Ana flew here under the name Keller-"

"That's what was on her passport, yeah."

"It's not one I created for her," Eames said. "So I did more digging. It turns out Analiese Keller owns properties around the world and she's got enough money to last her a good amount of time. Seems our little girl has made some very smart investments over the past couple of years."

That made Arthur pause. "So she was planning this," he said. "I was right."

"Cold comfort, isn't it?" Eames said. "Now here's the interesting bit. My contacts tracked down the Keller alias using Ana's description and approximate time of arrival but truth is, I didn't need to go that far. Yesterday evening someone left an interesting package at one of my local drop boxes."

"And?" Arthur glanced at him and was surprised to see Eames looking troubled. He rubbed his mouth and looked out the window, his brow furrowed in thought.

"It was a packet. A flight voucher for Analiese Keller out to Seattle, copies of her birth certificate and SS card and a key to a safe box with an address attached to it."

Arthur felt his blood grow cold. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Eames said. He looked back at Arthur. "There was note in there. In Ana's handwriting."

"Well?" Arthur said, frustrated. "Eames, what did it say?"

"It said, 'This time, make the right choice.'"

**###**

Ana looked down at her fists and found it took an effort to unclench them. She had opened a few stitches and bled onto her notebook but no serious harm was done.

"I had an accident," she said, looking back up. "Yesterday. It's nothing, really."

"An accident…" Peter trailed off, bemused. He hesitated before sitting back down and reached into a drawer to pull out a handkerchief. Ana took it without protest, wrapping it around her re-injured hand.

"So what's next for you?" he asked, after a moment. "Are you going to finish whatever it is you're doing here and go home?"

"I don't know where to go from here," Ana said honestly. She let out a half-hearted laugh. "What do you think I should do?"

Peter looked at her kindly. "I think you should walk away from living in dreams. I know how… attractive that world is to you but you've lost so much of yourself to it already. Look at what you've become. Don't let it take anything more from you."

"And what exactly do you think I've become?" Ana asked, raising her chin. She looked him in the eye and leaned forward.

"You don't think I didn't see what was happening?" Peter said. He shook his head. "All that time… it changed you. Even before I got hurt, I could see it. You went from being happy, content, to constantly looking over your shoulder. It was like you stopped trusting yourself and everyone else around you."

Peter looked down and shrugged. "Whatever secrets Arthur made you keep weren't good ones. I only wish I had known then what I know now- maybe I could have kept things from getting to this point."

"What does-"

"I think you need to take care of yourself," Peter said, looking up. His words came out in a rush, as if he were afraid that she'd leave before he had finished speaking his piece. "Leave this madness behind you and just move on. Hurting Arthur or Eames won't bring Matt back and it won't make things easier for you. I know we hadn't kept in touch much after I left but… when you came here yesterday, you weren't the woman I once knew. You were so _angry_. Don't let the past poison you."

He paused and then went on in softer tone. "Think about it, Ana. What kind of life would you have if you had accomplished what you set out to do? Cut off from everyone you know, everyone who loves you - what kind of life is that?"

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling ill. Because… she _was_ cut off now. She had accomplished at least part of what he was suggesting.

"I know you don't want to hear this but what Eames did…" Peter sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. If I were in his shoes at that moment, if I had to make that terrible choice- I can't say I would have chosen differently."

_What are you saying? What choice did Eames have to make?_

"Eames…" Ana repeated his name. "And what about Arthur? What do you think of him?"

"I don't know Arthur," Peter said. "I never met him, after all. But what I do know is that you thought the best of him at one point and he would have razed the world for you. And he almost did, in fact. Despite everything, I'm grateful to him for keeping you alive."

"Do you think I should forgive them?" Ana asked, falteringly.

"I've come to realize just how short life can be," Peter said, with a half-smile. He looked away and picked up a framed picture on his desk, staring down at it with a sad expression. "I don't want you to regret the things you've done under the guise of vengeance. Especially when you're the one who would lose the most."

He handed her the picture. "You've changed so much, old friend. It's time for you to let go of all the hatred and guilt you've carried around since Matt's death. If you don't, I'm afraid you'll look in the mirror one day and no longer know who you are."

Ana took the picture from Peter but she felt light-headed and unable to respond. His words had struck a little too close to the truth and she was finding it difficult to reel back her reactions.

She stared down at the frame in her hands and for one horrible, frightening second, Ana wanted to cry.

_This is who I was._

She looked younger in the photograph, or perhaps it was because she was smiling so brightly. She wore a pale yellow dress and her bare arms were slung around the shoulders of the two men beside her. Peter was standing without a cane on one side of her with his mouth open in mid-laugh. Another man, this one with dark hair and light eyes, stood on her other side looking at her with an amused expression.

_My brother._

It was obvious they were related. It was in the shape of their faces and their eyes, the way they were physically angled toward each other in a familiar, protective way. The look on his face-

_My brother._

Ana put the picture back on the desk and pressed the back of her hand against her now tightly shut eyes. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

_I'm not doing this here_, she thought. _Not here. Not now._

But it was so hard not to give in. The loneliness was suddenly more than she could bear. Once, she'd had a brother who looked at her with such fond affection that there could be no doubt she'd been cared for. Once, Ana had been someone's little sister.

_What happened to you, Matthew? Why am I here?_

_Why aren't you?_

She couldn't remember her brother, couldn't really feel for him, but here now was his face. She couldn't remember how much she'd loved him but the knowledge of that missing piece, the longing for someone to trust, was painful all by itself.

"Do you want some water?"

She lowered her hand and opened her eyes, swallowing hard as if something solid were stuck in her throat. She couldn't trust herself to speak so she merely shook her head in response.

_I need to go back to Arthur and to Eames._

_I need to find out what happened to me and what role they played in Matt's death._

_And then… maybe I can come back here. Be with an old friend again._

"Peter, I need you to tell me something," Ana said carefully. Her voice was a bit shaky and she could hear the edge of a sob in her tone. "What I wanted to do- why wouldn't it have worked? What I came here to talk to you about. Why do you think I would have failed?"

_What did I want to do?_

"It failed because you can't destroy a part of yourself without destroying the whole of you," Peter said. He straightened up and seemed to pull himself together a bit now that he had something to focus on. "Maybe you're right- maybe shades in dreams are proof of memory consolidation but you can't fit a whole person into one projection. One human life is too grand to contain, Ana. The mind simply won't allow itself to be stuck in time like that."

"_Not if the dreamer isn't aware of the dream. Not if the dream feels like reality."_

The words she'd written down floated to the surface and she felt chilled. She didn't know exactly what Peter was talking about… shades and projections… but it gave her another dot to connect.

"I don't know what Dr. Janus told you," he went on. "But I should have never put you in touch with him. I didn't think he'd fill your head with theoretical nonsense so please, just disregard whatever it was he told you. He means well and I think he wanted to help you but… just forget whatever it was he told you, Ana. It's for the best."

Ana let out a mirthless laugh. "Consider it forgotten."

She looked around Peter's office again and frowned. There were many pictures, framed and loose, scattered about the room, along with novels and little mementoes of a life well-lived. And yet, there wasn't a dusty surface. She glanced back at his face, his young, handsome features and felt another wave of sadness pass through her.

_He's surrounded himself with memories._

In all of the images she could see, he was standing straight with no indication of an injury.

_What's better- a life surrounded by the past or one without memories?_

"'A world without memory'," she recited the lines she'd read from the book in her bag, "'is a world of the present. The past only exists in books, in documents.'"

Peter looked startled and then he smiled. "From Einstein's Dreams by Lightman, right? I gave that book to Matt years and years ago. I didn't know you picked it up. It's not your usual literary fare."

"It travels well," she said. She looked down at lap and then took a deep breath before getting to her feet. "Peter, I should go now."

He nodded. His bright blue eyes were soft and gentle. Ana said nothing as he stood up, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so.

"Of course," he said. "And I should probably look over my lesson plan soon. Jeannine can call you a cab if you want. Just swing by her office on your way out."

"Thank you," Ana said earnestly. She walked around his desk and stood before him, feeling awkward but wanting to reach out for him nevertheless. "You don't know how much talking to you has helped me. I'm so glad that I came to see you. That you let me in."

Peter's cheeks flushed but he looked pleased. "You are always welcome here. And next time, I don't want you to wait nearly two years to come and see me."

Ana ducked her head to hide her surprise. "Of course," she said. "I'm sorry about that."

And then, to her surprise Peter drew her in with one arm and hugged her tightly, pulling her against his chest and pressing her cheek against his. At first she stiffened and then she sank into the embrace, aware that she was on the verge of tears again. She hadn't realized it but she was starved for touch and for affection and she was profoundly grateful that he couldn't see her face at the moment.

"I know you've had such a difficult time of it," he said, running his hand up and down her back as if he were soothing a child. "But it's going to be alright. You just have to be kind to yourself. Matt wouldn't have wanted you running around like this on his behalf, you know? And remember that your memories are treasured things. Even the bad ones, Ana. They make up the sum of who you are and you are not someone who should be forgotten."

Ana drew back and forced herself to smile, even as her eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you," she repeated hoarsely and looked away, embarrassed. She took a step back and held her notebook and pocketbook against her chest. "I'll see you soon, Peter."

He gave her a little wave and she hurried to the door, telling herself she would wait until she got outside before she allowed her heart to break completely.

**###**

**Thanks for reading- please read/review!**


	11. Three Jobs

**A/N: **Three moments that Eames and Ana shared.

**Three Jobs**

**I.**

"Making yourself at home?"

Ana smiled without looking up and Eames allowed himself a moment's indulgence to study her.

She was standing in the foyer of the Donelli family home, holding a steaming mug with both hands and looking up at the framed pictures on the wall.

As was the usual, Ana looked lovely. She wore a vibrant blue dress, silk, with a draped skirt- the simple sort of thing that he found she was fond of wearing whether in a dream or in reality. Her dark hair was loose and she wore only a plain gold locket around her neck. She was staring at the pictures with a fond, amused expression but there was also something a little sad, a little heavy about her gaze that made Eames curious.

He put his hands in his pockets and closed the front door behind him, hearing the echo of the latch. He stood beside her and she turned towards him after a moment, taking a sip of what looked to be tea from her cup.

"Fully stocked kitchen," Ana said, nodding down to the cup. "Saphry's work- she's very thorough. Almost every detail down here is exactly as it should be."

Eames raised his eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Almost?"

Ana hesitated and then shrugged. She turned away, walking deeper into the house. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors and Eames reached out and ran his fingertips against the cool, white walls as he walked behind her.

Saphry's work _was_ impressive and Eames made a mental note to strengthen his connection with the architect. He could learn from her and she was fun to be around, with her cutting wit and her flair for the dramatic.

He wondered briefly what she'd be like in bed- her flashing eyes looking down at him and dark limbs wrapped around his- but then shook the image out of his head as he followed Ana's slim silhouette into the living room of the literal dream house.

It was only the third job he'd run with Arthur and Ana but he knew from rumor that she was quickly becoming quite proficient at dream work. She was gaining a reputation for being an efficient, quick extractor, and perhaps even a bit of infamy at having the ability to suss out even the most private of secrets… from clients and marks, to other dreamers.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing Eames thought privately. Though he had his own secrets, he found it entertaining to see his world-hardened colleagues frightened by such a delicate creature. And to think- he had been so uncertain of Ana in the beginning, thinking her too naïve by far to survive.

_Let them fear her a little. It will only work in her favor._

_As long as Arthur keeps her safe, she'll be fine._

"You've done this," Ana said suddenly, "for many years, haven't you, Eames?"

Eames smiled at her. "Is that a jab at my age? I've not gone to ruin just yet, I hope."

She smiled back and Eames was delighted to see a bit of appraisal in her gaze.

"That's not how I meant it," Ana said. She looked around the room and wandered over to a side table next to the couch. With her free hand she picked up a small elephant figurine and examined it closely. "You must have been in the dreams of hundreds of people by now. Seen everything there is to see about human nature."

"Oh, I don't know," Eames said, leaning close to her. He plucked the figurine from her fingers and looked at the elephant. It was a bright, tacky thing; out of place in an elegant house. "People still do surprise me now and then. Everyone is capable of the greatest good and the darkest horrors, yes? But why do you ask?"

Ana took the elephant back and placed it on the table. She walked to the fireplace and studied the pictures on the mantel. Though she moved languidly, Eames could see that she was working something out in her mind. Her movements were unhurried but not at all wasted and there was a bright flash of _something_ in her eyes as she took everything in.

It was a pleasure to watch her. She was still so unguarded and soft that Eames found it took little effort to decipher her emotions.

_She's in her element but there's something about this place that makes her sad. Thoughtful._

He'd rarely had a moment with Ana to himself. Since their first job together several months before, Arthur had kept her on a tight leash and Eames knew that other people had already accepted Arthur and Ana as a package deal.

_The best point and the hotshot new extractor. Who would turn that down?_

Eames also knew that together, their asking price had skyrocketed. While he didn't quite get along with Arthur, he admired the man's skill and tenacity. Ana could look at someone and pull out details but Arthur wasn't afraid to strip them to their core. It was a good partnership and more importantly, it worked well.

They were tight, of that he was certain and Arthur watched her interactions with the other team members very, very closely, almost like a jealous lover if the other man could ever show such passion.

Eames didn't see any sign that their relationship had veered off from platonic, at least not from Ana's side.

But something inside his chest tightened whenever she looked at Arthur. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Eames that way and he'd forgotten how real _love_ looked. Not lust or desire; just sweet, genuine affection. It should have made her look silly or made Eames think a little less of her for being so transparent- god only knew how emotions of that nature made people weak- but instead he felt a touch of envy.

He didn't know how Arthur, with his ever-present scowls and pretentious suits, could elicit such a thing from someone like Ana. Those were ties that early childhood or life or death situations forged and strengthened and he considered Arthur a lucky man to have gained Ana's loyalty as a result.

"Do people ever move beyond your expectations of them?" she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. They were in the dining room now and Ana had set her mug on the table to face him.

Eames chuckled and leaned on the back of a chair. "That's a rather deep question, pet."

"I've been in…" Ana wrinkled up her nose as she thought. "Seven dreams now and it surprises me how similar people can be. We build worlds and they fill it with things half-remembered or secretly desired."

"Jaded already?" Eames teased. "I can see why a mind like yours would be bored. Tell you what- I'll recommend you as the extractor for the next truly interesting job I find. You'll see just how fantastical dreams can be."

Ana's smile turned faintly wistful. "I don't think Arthur would like that."

"Is he your keeper?"

"No, but I know I'm new to this, um… this whole thing. Dreaming, I mean," Ana said. She gestured with her hands to their surroundings. "I'd probably get into trouble without Arthur's help."

Eames narrowed his eyes. She _was_ dependent on Arthur. In a way, it made sense- she still needed a guide in their world but Eames didn't doubt that she was smart enough to find her own way without him.

He felt a touch of annoyance just then as he realized that Arthur hovered over Ana as if she were a child… because he was _cultivating_ her dependence on him.

_Manipulative little bastard._

"Oh, I don't know about that," Eames said, carefully. "I think it would be rather easy for you to make your own connections."

"I'd rather not," Ana said. She looked at Eames with almost painful sincerity. "I have a different life outside of this. Topside, I mean. Don't get me wrong- I love what I'm doing here but I think maybe it's best I don't make too many connections."

Eames held his tongue. He wondered if Arthur was aware of her hesitance or if she was too afraid to disappoint him by voicing her feelings.

"But anyway," Ana said. "Back to my original question. Do people ever do things that you don't expect them to? No matter how much research you do on them. You're a forger so you know people…"

"Everyone is a mystery, Ana," Eames said with a grin. "Even to me. We can only guess at their reactions but not everyone is right all the time."

Ana let out a soft breath and a touch of the earlier melancholy crept back into her eyes.

"But why do you ask?" he pushed on.

She looked away from him and out the large bay window.

"Samuel Donelli isn't cheating on his wife," she said. Her voice was soft as she spoke, as if she were breaking bad news to Eames gently. "And he isn't planning to throw her or his children out. His wife got it wrong. He's not having an affair but he _is_ in love with someone else. He'll never act on it though. He knows what his wife is capable of and he'd never… he'd never put her in that kind of danger. He loves the other woman too much."

Eames couldn't help it. He jerked back a little, startled and then let out a surprised laugh.

"And how the bloody hell did you figure that out?" he said, but he believed her and Ana smiled at him because she understood.

She opened her mouth but before she could explain, Eames' watch went off. He looked down at his wrist and sighed. "Arthur's due to arrive with Mr. Donelli in a minute."

"We should keep going then," Ana said. "Do the job as planned. Go ahead and forge Alan- I'll go upstairs to the study. The safe should be up there. I'll have my phone."

She began to move past him but Eames caught her, putting his hand on her hip and forcing her to stop and face him again.

"If you figured this out already, then why bother? We could finish early."

"Because Mrs. Donelli wants proof," Ana said, resigned. "You know it's the only way."

"How did you figure it out then?" Eames asked. "And do you know who?"

"This entire house is a safe, Eames," Ana said. "The pictures-"

She took a step back and Eames could see the surprise in her face as he changed into Donelli's bestfriend. She grinned and reached out to smooth down the lapel of his jacket. Eames' forgeries seemed to be a source of delight for her and a part of him preened at her wonder of his abilities.

After a moment, she moved back again and examined his new form. "The pictures on the wall- he's changed them all. They're not the ones that Saphry intended to have; they're no longer family photos but landscapes. And the figurines- they're all over the house and they... Yes, I know who she is."

"And?"

There was a knock at the door and Ana turned her back on him, hurrying towards the stairs in the hallway. She paused for a moment, and then looked back over her shoulder with a frown.

"All Mrs. Donelli needs to know is that her and her children's financial future is secure. Everything else is no one's business but Samuel's."

**II.**

Berlin in the winter was a cold, bleak place.

So it was with a bit of surprise that Eames found Ana standing on the hotel balcony, smoking a cigarette with glove-covered hands.

"There you are," Eames said, stepping out beside her. She turned her face towards him and Eames was struck at how weary she looked; the thick coat and scarf she wore made her seem absurdly small even though they stood practically eye to eye. "Rather nippy out there, don't you think?"

They were a week into preparation for their next job- Arthur, Ana, Creeks, Ariadne and Eames, but there was something _off_ about Ana that Eames couldn't help but notice.

A little over a year since her introduction into dream-share and Ana and Arthur were now at the top of the game. They were invited to almost every high-stakes job and with each dream Eames entered with Ana, he could see her skills improving and her confidence building.

Still, Arthur kept her close and while he worked solo now and again, no one could contact Ana without his help. It was no secret that Arthur carefully vetted each and every job Ana worked on but no one could quite figure out his criteria, though Eames suspected it had a lot to do with safety.

Normally, Arthur and Ana were as thick as… well, thieves but there was something about the current job that felt wrong to Eames. There was something wrong between Arthur and Ana. It was as if he were watching two people play their roles mechanically; Arthur was perhaps a touch more stiff and exacting and Ana was almost withdrawn, her bright-eyed curiosity muted down.

Eames was _worried_ about her. He could at least admit that much to himself- which was why when she slipped away from their suite during a break for lunch, Eames sought her out.

"I'm not supposed to smoke in the room." Ana took another drag and Eames watched her full, pink mouth close around the cigarette.

"I didn't peg you for a smoker," Eames said. He rubbed his arms to keep warm and leaned against the metal railing on his elbows. Ana stared at him for a beat before handing him her cigarette. He took it with a smile.

"I'm not really," she said. "But sometimes I just…"

She trailed off and looked down. "Anyway, I know it's a nasty habit."

"Oh, there are nastier habits, believe you me," Eames said, gently leaning on her and then pulling away. He took a puff before handing it back to her. "Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment and Ana stared out at the city, her gaze distant. Eames stared at her profile and saw shadows under her eyes- a badge of the sleepless dreamer.

"What's wrong, Ana?" Eames asked finally. "You've not been yourself lately."

Ana exhaled and smoke curled around her face in the chilly air.

"You know Arthur warned me about you. Back on our first job together. He said you were a thief. Good forgers are good liars and you were the best of both. He said you couldn't be trusted outside of a job."

Eames laughed, amused. "And what do you think?"

"I think you both have a history that I don't know about." Ana's smile faded then. "Eames, I don't know what I'm doing here anymore, half a world away from home. Do you ever... do you ever have doubts?"

_Ah, _Eames thought, _so that's what this is about._

He let his smile grow gentle and drew closer to her. "Sometimes," he said. "Ana..."

"Do you have a family, Eames?" she asked suddenly. "Someone to go home to? A house, maybe. Friends?"

Eames chuckled. "Come now, Ana- I would have thought by now you would have figured me all out."

"Maybe. Sometimes it's worth more to hear things from other people." Ana frowned and rubbed her forehead, as if it pained her. "Did you know, Eames, I have a partner? My job… I have a partner at work. In my real life. Well, I _had_ a partner."

Eames said nothing. In the beginning, he had tried for weeks to track Ana down, to find out who she really was. He started with what scant information he had on Arthur, since it was evident their relationship went back for years but the other man had covered his tracks too well. For all Eames knew, Arthur sprang from the ground fully formed- he couldn't even get a straight answer on place of birth.

"What happened to him?"

"He ran a case without me," Ana said quietly. "He got hurt pretty badly."

She wasn't a cop, Eames thought. There was no way she could have traveled as much as she did if that was the case. She might be private sector but that felt wrong to him and she would have been easier to track down. Government seemed the more likely answer and the last he'd heard the CIA wasn't keen on partnerships or on letting agents come and go as they pleased. Ana could handle a gun but she excelled in the more cerebral aspects of their job. She pored over Arthur's research much more closely than most extractors would have-

_FBI then, _Eames thought. He felt a moment of triumph at the deduction… and then decided that he couldn't use it against her.

There was something oddly vulnerable about the downcast tilt of her mouth- she _trusted_ Eames and he felt an odd, protective flare in his chest at the thought. Ana wasn't stupid and she had proven her worth several times over. Whatever it was she saw in Eames, she found him deserving of being trusted despite what Arthur had told her.

_Honor among thieves, _Eames thought wryly. _Well, at least some of us anyway._

"And do you think you could have prevented that?" Eames asked. "What happened to your partner, I mean."

Ana nodded.

"There's no doubt," she said. "I looked over his case notes. I could have told him that he wasn't… he was _wrong. _They were all wrong. But I wasn't there to tell him that."

She patted her right hip. "So he got shot right here. He can't walk straight anymore and he'll need a cane for the rest of his life. Because of me, because I chose a dream over him. His life... just changed like that. Because of me."

"Do you regret going on that job instead of being with your partner?" Eames asked. Ana looked at him sharply. "Or do you regret being in our world altogether?"

_Do you blame Arthur for what happened to your partner?_

Ana looked uncertain for a moment. She put her cigarette out on the railing and threw it in the small ashtray a few feet away from her elbow.

"That's the thing- I don't know," Ana said. "But the first time I ever went into a dream… it was like magic. Like nothing I'd ever known. And the amazing thing is how _clear_ things are in dreams. People can't hide in dreams, they can't hide themselves and it's refreshing. In a lot of ways, dreams are better than reality."

"That's a dangerous thing to say, pet," Eames said, growing serious. "You can play in dreams but you must live in reality. Never, ever mistake one for the other- I've seen too many people get lost because they forget this."

She nodded and Eames watched as she reached in her pocket for another cigarette. She had to remove her gloves to pull one out of the carton and Eames saw her small, white hands tremble in the cold air. She struggled with the lighter, cigarette propped between her lips and Eames reached out and wrapped his hands around hers to steady and warm her.

Ana tensed and looked up.

There was only a small distance between them and Eames could see that her eyes were a pale, pale gray, almost blue. She stared at him as he guided the flame to the tip of her cigarette.

Ana inhaled and he let her hands go to take the cigarette from her mouth. He took a deep drag as she put on her gloves again; he noticed with some interest that her cheeks were now flushed a healthy pink.

"The way I see it," Eames said, handing it back to her when she was settled, "You're allowed mistakes. Just as your partner is allowed to make his mistakes. Perhaps you should have stayed behind; perhaps he should have waited for you. We all have our regrets, Ana. What kind of life would it be if we didn't?"

Eames leaned in and Ana looked up at him with wide eyes. "But if I were him, I'd know I'd be much better off with you by my side than without."

He looked her up and down with an exaggerated leer. "The view alone…"

She let out a startled laugh and for the first time since he stepped out onto the balcony, the expression reached her eyes, brightening her entire face.

"You are an incorrigible flirt," she said and Eames laughed with her. "Absolutely horrible. Shameless."

"I've been accused of worse things," Eames said. "Is it working?"

Ana shook her head and looked down with a grin. They said nothing for a while. Eames thought that she seemed much lighter than she had all week. They passed the cigarette between them and Eames was about to try and convince her to go back inside when Arthur stepped through the door.

"Hey." Arthur looked at Ana cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild animal. He wore a thick parka over his usual slacks and button-up and Eames noticed the large white paper bag in his hand. "Are you okay? You should come back inside."

Ana looked at him and then glanced at Eames with a half-smile. Arthur noticed it and narrowed his eyes.

_Easy there, Arthur. _

Eames grinned widely at him even though he felt the familiar irritation rise up.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Ana said and it sounded as if she meant it. She looked down at the bag. "You brought lunch."

"Yeah- from that place a couple of blocks away." He held up the bag and smiled, flashing his dimples. "And I got a few slices of schwarzwälder kirschtorte. I thought… I mean, you haven't been eating so I…"

Ana moved towards him and squeezed his upper arm. "Indulging my sweet tooth?"

There was genuine care in Arthur's expression as he looked at her. It made him look young and defenseless and Eames felt his mouth curl into a small smirk.

_You're just as dependent on her then. Interesting._

"Come inside. Please," Arthur said, glancing back at the room. He leaned towards Ana's side and spoke in a softer tone though Eames had no trouble hearing him in the still, quiet air. "We should talk after. You know… about things."

Ana nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I'll follow you in a second."

Arthur glanced at Eames, the soft expression fading slightly. "I brought enough for three. Figured you'd be hungry too, if you're-"

"Nah," Eames said. "I was planning to head out. Just wanted to share a fa- a smoke."

"Your call," Arthur shrugged and walked back inside. "Ana, I'll set up on the table."

When he was gone, she turned back to Eames. "Thank you, Eames."

"I didn't do anything," he said honestly. "Aside from tar my lungs a bit."

"Thank you for not telling me it wasn't my fault," she said. "Arthur… he doesn't see it the same way."

Eames snorted and then pulled out a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket. He hadn't been lying to Arthur or Ana. He had to start tracking the mark for their job and sometimes notes were a necessity.

He scribbled on a piece of paper and held it out to her.

"The number to my voice box," Eames said, when she looked at him curiously. She took it from his hand. "I don't have a permanent mobile but with that, you can always reach me. I check it twice a day at nine in the morning and eight in the evening, London time, wherever I am."

Ana stared at it for a moment and then tucked it into her glove.

"If you want a change of scenery or perhaps just an ear," Eames said.

Ana gave him a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. It threw Eames off- he felt his mouth dry up and his throat close a little.

_Do you even know what you are? What you could make me do right now?_

She was just a woman, just another dreamer who was trying to find her way and _yet_…

"Eames?" Ana said.

He leaned on the rail and raised an eyebrow, feigning impatience. He suspected that she saw right through him though.

"My name is Miranda."

**III.**

Eames almost didn't hear the door being kicked open; he was too busy trying to shoot out the window and not get hit in return to focus on sounds other than gunfire.

"Took you long enough!" Eames yelled with a quick look back. It was Arthur, which meant Ana wasn't far behind. "Did you get the name?"

The job had gone bad. The first half hour or so went as planned- Eames had forged the mark's trusted second-in-command perfectly. But while the mark wasn't militarized, he was _paranoid_. One wrong word, one odd gesture, and the whole dream went tits up. Eames had been lucky to get out of the boardroom without being gutted and he'd gone to their designated safe house- the empty floor of an office building- to hide out.

Unfortunately, he'd been followed and had had to disrupt things even further by creating enough fire arms to protect himself and whoever else from their team might pop up.

Eames crouched down underneath the window and turned around.

"Arthur! I said, did Ana get the-"

What he saw made him forget what he was about to say.

Arthur was kneeling over Ana on the floor, propped up on one hand with the other on her stomach. She was writhing underneath him, trying vainly to twist away from the hand pressing down on her as Arthur struggled to keep her still.

Eames saw her blood practically gushing out through Arthur's fingers. For one mad, odd moment, he thought, _her dress is ruined, poor girl._

"What the bloody hell, Arthur?" Eames yelled, coming back to himself. He crawled over to them, gun still clutched in one hand, but he had to stop every now and then as glass crashed around him. "What happened?"

"She was coming out of the complex," Arthur said. "Just walking across the damn street to me and out of nowhere, these fucking snipers…"

Arthur looked up and Eames saw that his dark eyes were wild and manic around the edges. There was blood all over his clothing and Eames realized that she must have collapsed on him, shot from the back.

_Hydrostatic shock. She's dying._

_He dragged her all the way here, nearly two blocks away._

It was her bad luck she hadn't kicked out of the dream already. Stomach wounds were incredibly painful but not instantly fatal. Eames knew she'd bleed out if they didn't do anything about it and she wouldn't go peacefully.

"What the fuck happened, Eames?" Arthur screamed at him accusingly. "Everything was fine and then this!"

"Cornell's secretary came on to me," Eames said. "He wasn't exactly happy about it and went nuts."

He reached down for Ana but Arthur growled and shoved him off. "Don't you fucking touch her."

"She needs to be put out," Eames said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. "She's in pain."

"I… I can't."

Ana moaned and Eames looked down. Sweat was beading down her face and her eyes were nearly round, pupils blown from shock and agony. She was trying to push Arthur off of her, trying to sit up for some unknown reason and he was pushing her back down on the floor.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Eames asked, incredulous. "Look at her!"

Eames picked up his gun and brought it up to Ana's face, feeling ill about what he had to do but knowing it was necessary, when she let out a terrified shriek.

Arthur shoved the gun away and glared at Eames but it was pointless; he was frozen in place. He suddenly understood the gravity of the situation and for a moment, just for split second, all the noise and chaos around him faded away into white noise.

_Oh, bloody hell._

And then world came crashing back around his senses. He dropped the gun and grabbed Arthur by his collar.

"You never taught her how to die in a dream," he snarled. "You arrogant little shit. She thinks this is real!"

"She didn't need to learn how," Arthur said. He shoved Eames back and he let Arthur go. "All of the jobs we took on- she didn't need to die and I kept her safe. _You_ fucked up this job, Eames."

"Where's her totem?"

"Gone," Arthur said. His face twisted into something ugly. "Projections tried to grab us. One of them took it from her before she could-"

Ana moaned again and Arthur brushed her hair from her sweaty brow. She was huffing as if she'd just run a marathon and Eames knew she was trying her best to stay conscious.

"Listen to me, this is a dream, it's not real," Arthur said. He bent down and turned her face so that she was forced to look up at him. "It's not real, it's just a dream."

"Matty," she choked out. "You tell Matty…"

"No, Ana, you can tell him yourself. This is just a dream," Arthur repeated. His voice wavered and he squeezed his eyes shut before looking back down at her face. "Please believe me. Just let me do this for you."

She let out another frightened cry when Arthur brought up a pistol that he'd willed into existence.

"No, please." Ana pushed at him weakly. Eames knew that every breath must have been torment for her but still she pleaded. She wanted so badly to live. "Please, please Arthur, please."

"Miranda," Eames said gently. She jerked her head to the side and stared at him; he wondered how much she actually saw at that point. "I promise you. You'll wake up and I'll be right there with you. Me and Arthur will be there. You _will _wake up."

Ana's face crumpled and she began to cry, tears mixing with blood and sweat on her face, and Eames felt his heart rip apart. Her eyes looked up at his, confused and hurt and terrified and Eames swallowed, trying his best to keep his face still.

"You'll wake up, Ana. And this will have been nothing but a bad dream."

She reached up for him, her fingers sticky and warm with her blood, and Eames held her hand tightly.

"Don't," she mouthed but no sound came out.

Eames knew what she was trying to say:_ Please let me live._

Dying in a dream felt much like dying in real life, or so Eames imagined it to be so. The pain, the agony, the horrifying sensation of your life slipping out of you… it all felt so real. Eames had died in dreams before and while he hadn't entirely gotten used to it, he could keep the fear down to a controllable degree.

The first time he'd been killed though- he'd woken up screaming.

He looked up at Arthur, just a flicker of a glance, and Arthur nodded.

"Don't you worry," Eames said. He squeezed her hand again and smiled. The sound of gunfire continued around them but Eames held Ana's gaze without flinching. "Everything is going to be just fine, alright? We'll get you out of here soon. You hold on, just keep looking at me-"

Arthur raised the gun again.

"-and everything will be okay. Everything will be fine. You just keep looking at me, Ana. Don't worry about a thing, we'll help you and everything will be okay."

Ana pressed her lips together and nodded. Eames could see a flicker of hope in her eyes and it made him hate Arthur. For the first time since he'd met the man, he felt pure, simple hate for him.

Eames closed his eyes and the sound of the gun seemed to reverberate down into his bones. He felt warmth splatter across his face. The hand he'd been holding went limp and Eames tilted his head up before opening his eyes.

He let the hand go and glared at Arthur.

The other man was looking down at the body with a lost, wrecked expression and the rage nearly blinded Eames.

_He has no right to look that way._

Eames drew his arm back and hit Arthur as hard as he could from his position. Arthur flew back but caught himself and gave Eames a venomous look. His nose was bleeding but Eames only felt regret that they were in a dream.

"Did she get the name?" Eames asked coldly.

"I don't know," Arthur said. His voice still sounded shaky but his face was shuttered and still. He got to his hands and knees and picked up the gun, making his way towards the door. Drops of blood from his nose fell to the floor but Arthur ignored it. "I'll go back to the complex and see if I can't get the name from there, just in case. Spencer is on his way- I'll give him a call and he can cover me."

"Fine," Eames said. "But we will be having words after all of this is over."

Arthur exited the room without a glance back and Eames was left with the cooling body on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he could see the ruined, bright red mess that had once been a head. Outside, he heard the rat-tat-tat of the ongoing battle.

_Fuck it all to hell. Arthur and Spencer can take care of themselves, _he thought.

Eames picked up the gun and held it underneath his chin.

He pulled the trigger.

**###**

When he came to, he sat up and looked around.

Miron, the only other conscious person in the room, looked up from his laptop and nodded at Eames. They were in a large conference room and Eames, Arthur, Spencer the architect, and Dev Cornell, the mark, were in leather chairs around the PASIV, which was set on the mahogany conference table.

There was an unused line on an empty chair and Eames pointed his chin at it as he pulled his own line from his arm. "Where's Ana?"

"She went to the bathroom," Miron said. He looked back at his screen. "Said she got kicked out. Stomach hurt. I offered something to help but she said no."

Miron was young and had a bit of hero worship when it came to Ana and Arthur. If he wasn't worried, then it meant that Ana was relatively calm coming out of the dream.

It didn't make Eames feel better.

"Start cleaning up. We'll need to get out of here quickly."

He stood up and walked out of the room, straightening his suit jacket and shirt as he passed by offices filled with people. He nodded at a few of them, but kept his head down and moved as quickly as he could. There were private single bathrooms on the floor locked with separate codes, but Eames knew what they were. Ana wouldn't use the public bathroom; they all had to make sure they couldn't be identified later.

He knocked twice on the door in the thankfully empty corridor and called out, "It's me. I'm coming in."

Then he waited a moment, just to make sure she actually wasn't using the facilities and punched in the code.

Eames didn't know what he'd expected- hysterics, perhaps, or tears but this was a true surprise: Ana was standing in front of the mirror with the front of her dress hanging open.

"Ana," he said her name softly, and closed the door behind him. He approached her slowly. "How are you?"

She was leaning over the sink with both hands gripping the sides, looking at her reflection.

"I was shot," she said. He saw her gaze move down to her bare stomach. "It felt real."

"It was a dream." Eames stood next to the mirror and stared at her. Ana wore a light cream bra, pretty and lacy, and her skin was almost the exact shade. She was shockingly pale against the rich purple of her dress. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"I felt the bullet go in," she went on. Her voice was odd, monotone and inflectionless. "I felt it come out. I felt Arthur's hand on the hole in my stomach."

"It felt real but it wasn't," Eames said. "I've been shot in dreams before. The first time it happened, I had nightmares about it for a week. But eventually the feeling goes away. It's hard to get over, I won't lie about that, but it will go away."

She blinked. Her face was frighteningly blank; it was as if Ana had become a living doll.

"Come on," Eames said, after a moment. "Let's head back."

He took a step forward and pulled her gently away from the mirror. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and she did nothing as Eames carefully buttoned her top up again. To his relief, her skin was warm.

_Not shock then, _Eames thought. _It isn't physical shock, anyway. _

She pulled away when he tried to take her hand and he tilted his head to the side. "The team is still under. I'm going to back in and try to help-"

"I got the name," Ana said dully. "It's Riley."

"That's wonderful, pet," Eames said. "Now let's get-"

"Go pull them out," Ana said. "I'll meet you back at the condo."

Eames frowned and shook his head. Ana was… _fragile…_ at the moment. He wasn't sure if she would be fine or if she'd break down into hysterics or worse, have a heart attack, the moment she walked outside. She may not have been in shock but he'd seen delayed reactions before.

He was concerned about her but he was also aware the job was on the line. It would do no one any good if she keeled over in public.

As if she read his mind, Ana narrowed her eyes at him.

"I am going to the condo," she said carefully, as if he were thick. "Unless you want to drag me back into the conference room and draw attention to ourselves- _get out_."

Eames held up his hands and nodded.

"I'll wake them up but I'm right behind you, Ana," Eames said firmly. Arthur could clean up after them. Eames would give him no choice.

"Get out."

"Be careful, Ana," Eames said, walking back to the door. "Just remember- none of it was real."

The sooner he got to the room, the sooner he could trail after her and help her work through whatever mess dying had done to her mind. Before the door closed behind him, he heard her speak in a voice so soft and so low that he almost missed the words.

"I'll decide for myself what's real or not."

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	12. Chapter 9

**A/N:**Apologies for the wait. Blame the holidays, work, etc.

Also, to answer reviewer's _xForevermore_ unasked question: Arthur did tell Ana she could die in dreams but he never actually gave her a practical demonstration. I hope this makes sense! And yes, I agree… it was totally messed up, even if the decision was made with good intentions =)

As always, thanks for reading and please do let me know what you think!

**Chapter 9**

They found her sitting on the steps of the school entrance with her hands in her lap, staring out into the distance. The wind whipped her loose hair to the side and scattered leaves around her feet. Still, she sat motionless as Arthur drove up the driveway.

As soon as they were parked, Eames darted out of the car. With an annoyed sigh, Arthur turned the engine off and scrambled after him, quickly scanning the area. He frowned to himself, catching the cameras hidden in the trees and the façade of the building, and ducked his head.

"Tsk-tsk, Ana. What have you been up to?" Eames said when they reached her. Though his tone was light, Arthur could tell that he was more angry now than worried. The cameras wouldn't have escaped his notice either.

Ana seemed to shake herself awake at the sound of Eames' voice. She looked up at him and then at Arthur, her gaze slowly focusing. Now that he was closer, he saw that her eyes were slightly swollen and red. She wasn't crying, or at least she hadn't been recently, but it was clear she was upset.

"You took much longer than I thought you would," Ana said. There was an edge to her voice that Arthur noted with some alarm. "I thought I was going to have to call a taxi soon. I'm curious though- was it the doorman?"

Eames narrowed his eyes and reached down for her arm, clearly meaning to pull her up. "Never mind that right now. Come along, it's time to get back-"

Ana jerked away from him and got to her feet, taking a few steps to the side. Something in her face seemed to harden and she looked at Eames with a mixture of bewilderment, fear and-

_What happened between her and Avery?_

-and anger. She was _angry_. It was an expression Arthur had become familiar with. It was obvious she didn't want to go back with them; he saw how she shifted her weight on her feet and the way she angled her shoulders- she was ready to bolt if they said or did the wrong thing.

Feeling the weight of the cameras on them, Arthur knew that they couldn't simply force her back into the car with them, as tempting as it was.

Whatever Avery told Ana, it had changed the way she looked at them now.

"Don't." Ana nodded at one of the cameras. "They've already captured your faces. If you try anything…"

"We won't do anything you don't want to," Arthur said in a gentle voice. He dropped his shoulders and took a deep breath, forcing his body to relax and assume a non-threatening stance. Ana looked back and forth between him and Eames like a skittish animal, her eyes wary and watchful. "Listen to me, Ana. We were worried about you, that's all. I would have taken you here if you had asked but you just left-"

"I don't believe you," Ana said sharply.

Arthur nodded and held up his hands slightly, palms up. He needed to calm her down, to get her to agree to get into the car with them again. The longer they remained in front of the school, the greater the risk of Avery coming out to find them. And Arthur knew what they must have looked like from the cameras- two men against one defenseless woman.

"I know you don't and I'm sorry for that," he said in a low, gentle voice. "I've asked you to trust me but you don't feel like I've done anything to earn that. You have to depend on us and that scares you because we're keeping things from you and you don't understand why. I get it, I really do."

He took a step forward and felt relieved when she didn't move away.

"So I promise that we'll give you a choice from now on. I won't leave you behind again and I will tell you what it is we're doing so you know, you'll _know_, that we're not doing anything that would hurt you."

An odd expression flitted across her face and the corners of her mouth tilted up. Yet Arthur knew it wasn't a smile- there was something too bitter, too calculating there to be genuine.

"No," Ana said. "I've done it your way for a day and a half and I have nothing to show for it. I still don't know anything about my life. So now… so now you're going to start answering my questions. Now we're going to do some things my way."

Arthur blinked and then frowned.

"What do you mean, you still don't know," he asked. "What did you and Avery talk about?"

_What did you come here for, Ana?_

"I did something to myself," she said. "I don't know what… but I did this on purpose. Because of something you did. Something the both of you did."

_It's better to know how someone thinks rather than what they're thinking at any given moment._

Arthur felt the knot in his chest tighten as he began to understand.

_"She is a very smart woman with deep resources."_

"You still don't know, do you?" he said slowly. "Avery doesn't know that you lost your memory. Because if you had asked him up front..."

"He can't help me," Ana said. She suddenly looked uncertain- the anger that had been fueling her was gone and now Arthur saw only frustration and confusion in her eyes. "Something happened when I used the PASIV. It stands to reason that the only way to undo it is through the same means."

"So why lead us here?" Eames asked. He moved forward, his head tilted to the side. "Why bother if you weren't going to pump Avery for-"

Eames stiffened and Arthur knew the moment he grasped what Arthur already had.

"Oh, pet," Eames said with an oddly choked laugh. "You are dangerous in any form, aren't you? Bravo to you. I shouldn't have expected anything less."

Ana's mouth trembled slightly and she seemed to draw into herself a bit, as if Eames' comment had stung her. Arthur glared at Eames but the other man seemed fixated on Ana.

"I've had some time to think," she said, looking from Arthur to Eames and back again. "To really try and put things together. What little information I do have doesn't exactly paint the best picture of you. I don't know who either of you really are but Peter does and I actually believe that he _cares_ about me, that he's my _friend_. He would tell me everything if I asked but he can't fix me. That much was clear within the first few minutes of meeting him."

She looked over her shoulder at the school.

"I left something with him," she said, turning back to them. "He'll find it if I don't take it back and when he does he'll know what happened to me and that I'm with you. Peter's smart- I have no doubt he'll do everything in his power to find me again. And he won't do it alone either."

_Gideon._

"You have far too much confidence in Avery and Gideon," Eames said, his voice deceptively light. "What makes you think that we'd be at all concerned about them?"

Arthur shook his head, irritated at Eames. Eames was a risk-taker and he loved playing a bluff but now wasn't the time to call Ana out. Even Arthur had to admit, she'd backed them both into a tight corner. A part of him had to admire her strategy though- it was simple and brilliant and utterly ruthless.

_Using her condition as leverage- it was the only thing she had._

With nothing but a handful of fake IDs and a suitcase of clothes, Ana still found a way to gain an upper hand over both Eames and himself.

_She came here not for information but to secure Peter as an ally._

"What made you think I was talking about Gideon?" Ana asked.

Arthur snorted, glancing back at Eames with a sharp look. Eames clenched his jaw and Arthur could tell he was annoyed with himself. By saying Gideon's name, he confirmed Ana's gamble.

"So what do you want?" Arthur said, drawing her attention back to him. "You went to all this trouble, after all."

"I want to know everything," she said. "About my life, about who I am. I want to know where my home is and where I belong. I won't take back what I left with Peter until I know the truth."

"Ana," Arthur said with a sigh. "You know we should-"

"Done," Eames cut in suddenly. "It's time you knew; we've kept it from you long enough."

"Eames, what the hell?" Arthur whirled around to face him but the other man ignored his outburst and stepped forward, holding out his hand to Ana. "Don't do this, don't take this away from her-"

_Don't twist her situation to your advantage, you selfish bastard._

_She deserves better this time._

_She deserves a second chance._

"But Ana, please," Eames continued on, as if Arthur hadn't come close to striking at him. "Come back to the hotel with us. This isn't the place to have this conversation."

Ana looked down at Eames' outstretched hand and with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, Arthur saw her features brighten with hope. When she raised her eyes to Arthur, she looked as if he had betrayed her, _disappointed_ her with his refusal.

_I only want to help you,_he thought, _I don't know how I can make you believe that._

"Okay," she said softly. She hesitantly reached out to Eames and nodded. "I'll go back with you."

"Good," Eames said, closing his fingers gently around hers. "Thank you, Ana. I promise you, I'll tell you everything now-"

"I want to know how my brother died," Ana said. Eames' eyes widened and Arthur tensed at her words.

"Because that's why I did this to myself. I want to know what role the both of you played in his death."

**###**

Yusuf put down Miron's notes and glanced at the four vials of the new formula that Miron had given him to examine. As far as he could tell, everything was as it should be. The boy hadn't been lying, that much was clear to Yusuf, and his brews were excellent. The lad was barely old enough to drink but he was a genius. Perhaps not yet as good with chemicals as Yusuf but he had time on his side- one day Miron _would_ be the best.

Right now though, Yusuf had more to deal with than professional concerns.

"So you see, da?" Miron said worriedly. He was almost wringing his hands as he looked at Yusuf with his large eyes. "I double check my work, always. This should not have affected memory."

"Don't worry, Miron, you're in the clear," Yusuf said with a smile. He looked down at the equipment on the table and sighed, patting the pockets of his vest absentmindedly. "I doubt whatever it was you made could have wiped out an entire lifetime's worth of memories."

_I told Arthur there was more to this than chemistry._

Miron shook his head and Yusuf wasn't surprised to see that his words hadn't calmed the boy down. According to Eames, Miron practically worshipped the ground Arthur and Ana walked on because Arthur assumed everyone was capable (until they proved they weren't) and Ana… well, _"Was_ _Ana,"_as Eames had said, as if that had explained it.

Miron had been mistreated by other teams in the past, taken in by his youthful demeanor and eagerness to please. A little respect and kindness had gone a long way to secure his loyalty. In Yusuf's opinion, only hacks treated their chemists poorly- the good ones knew that a bad mood or an unfortunate turn of words could make a chemist's hand 'accidentally' slip.

"Your batch was rather large," Yusuf asked, gesturing to the vials. "If it works as it's meant to, you should keep the rest. People would pay handsomely for it. Keep one for yourself though, so you can recreate it. Notes aren't always as precise as we hope they are."

Miron frowned and shook his head again. "I knew it was good," he said frankly, "but I made five vials."

Yusuf blinked and then realized what Miron meant.

_Of course. Four unused vials and the one that Ana used._

Arthur told him she put herself under, which meant that it was likely Ana had inserted the vial into the PASIV herself. And if the gossip around Ana and Arthur was even in the slightest bit true, then he would have kept a respectful distance from her during the job.

_Too bad Ariadne isn't here,_Yusuf thought as he made his way across the room to the device but he knew she had to finish the job that they'd all come here for in the first place.

He would have liked to get her take on the situation. Yusuf preferred to stay in the comfort of his home- since the Fischer job he'd only gone out to the field twice more. He was a chemist; at his age he fancied himself a _gentleman_ scientist and not a bunson-burner-on-demand.

Besides, it was difficult to find a decent cat sitter in Mombasa.

But Yusuf did like to keep up on the current chatter among those of their profession. The dream-share world was small and word traveled fast, especially about noteworthy jobs or people.

Yusuf had never worked with Ana but he had heard about her even before the disaster that was the Lewis job had taken place.

She seemed to materialize into the underground world of dreaming by Arthur's side- which was news enough by itself. Arthur's reputation reached far and wide. He was, quite simply, the best point a team could have and had been in the business since the beginning. Some said that Arthur had helped start the art of mind-crime, while others said he was a test subject gone rogue. Yusuf had even heard that Arthur was the son of a major crime lord who had wanted to expand his empire.

In any case, Arthur's name was a passport into the more lucrative and complex jobs. The opposite was also true- once Arthur refused to work with someone they were blacklisted across the board, no questions asked. Sharing dreams involved a certain degree of trust, after all. They were all criminals, no doubt there, but the good ones knew not to fuck around with each other's subconscious and anyone who cut corners was usually not welcomed back. Competition was healthy; outright sabotage was deadly.

At first it seemed that Ana was simply Arthur's protégé, a mere student of his technique. Even Eames had assumed such, Yusuf remembered, from the first time he'd brought up the woman.

"_Gorgeous creature, really," Eames said, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. "Arthur's got taste, I'll give him that. But I tell you, he's trying to re-shape this one into another Cobb- minus the crazy, of course. Arthur's a creature of certain comforts."_

"_So she's good?" Yusuf had asked, absentmindedly petting his cat as he slowly stirred a solution in a glass beaker._

"_Oh, she's better than good but he'll stomp out whatever creativity she has and turn her into a fusspot soon enough."_

Yet Ana was no one's student. She had a style all her own and it became apparent that Arthur was more of a business partner than a mentor. Yusuf had heard that she could pull secrets in half the time most extractors needed.

Of course, that kind of introduction drew attention and not always the positive kind. All that talent and promise meant that other extractors, the mediocre ones anyway, were shut out. Arthur had done a good job hiding Ana -

_But not good enough._

Yusuf had seen the fallout from the Lewis job. He'd seen how Eames had come back, so shocked and broken that he'd lain low for weeks after. Eames, he knew, had no little amount of affection for Ana. He could tell in the fond, wistful way the other man spoke about her. So many people thought Eames was a rogue con who left a trail of empty pockets and broken hearts behind him and the truth was he encouraged that perception. He slouched and leered, cracked jokes and flirted at inappropriate times but Yusuf knew better.

Over the years, Ana had become important to Eames- so much so that he'd spent an insane amount of money and resources to track her down. And Yusuf knew that once Eames found her, had learned who she was outside of dream share… well, he guarded that secret as closely as his own identity. For all his shallow surface implied, Eames felt deeply and strongly for the things he considered worth caring about. His family and small group of friends, his books, his paintings… and along the way, Ana had been added to Eames' short list.

_Eames had been drunk the day he came back from the Lewis job,_Yusuf thought as examined Arthur's PASIV. _Drunk and covered in blood that wasn't all his._

He drew out the vials that Ana had placed in there the day before. He'd studied Miron's notes carefully and tested his work and as far as Yusuf could tell, everything _seemed_ sound. However he had a hunch that something about the specific formula Ana tested had contributed to her current situation.

Regardless of what Arthur thought, Yusuf knew how grief could drive sane people mad. How it made them do things that they wouldn't normally even consider. Yusuf made a decent living from people who ran from reality because of how much it _hurt_.

The impossible was sometimes built on a foundation of tears.

And if what Yusuf had heard was true: if Ana had watched her brother die at the hands of the men she trusted, _because_ of the men she trusted- then there was no telling what a woman like her, one that Eames admired and perhaps even loved, could do. If she was even half as brilliant as he'd heard, then propelled by grief and hate, Ana could have built worlds… or destroyed them.

"What's that?" Miron asked, kneeling next to Yusuf on the carpet beside the PASIV. He eyed the dark blue liquid left in the vial that Yusuf held. "That's… that's not my formula. It should not be that color."

Yusuf shook his head slowly and brought the vial up to the light, shaking it slightly. Something moved from the bottom of the vial and bloomed, lightening the liquid briefly before settling back down. There was a trace of powder at the lip and a crusted half-fingerprint on the side.

_She may have been in a hurry, may have spilled a little bit onto her fingers as she…_

As she what?

Eames often accused Arthur of having no imagination but Yusuf had it spades. He could imagine Ana, a faceless, blurry woman fumbling with the vial she'd just been handed. She had to walk across a room in front of everyone and plug herself into the PASIV in minutes- she wouldn't have had time for grace or finesse.

_Her hands probably shook as she uncapped the vial. Perhaps she had to crush a pill in her fingertips. Perhaps she spilled some liquid as she pushed the powder in the container, leaving behind a fingerprint that went unnoticed in her haste._

Yusuf blinked himself out of his reverie and looked at Miron. The boy stared at him with his bright, curious eyes.

"That's because it's not your formula, my friend. It's something else."

###

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	13. Chapter 10

**A/N:**Apologies for yet another delay- I hope the length makes up for it. Please read and review!

Happy holidays!

**Chapter 10**

Eames rapped on the door of the car and waited for Arthur to unlock the door.

"That was Yusuf," he said gruffly, as he settled back into the passenger seat. His cheeks were pink from the cold. "He needs a day or two more to analyze whatever the hell it was Ana pumped into herself."

Arthur turned back to look at Ana before he responded to Eames. She looked back at him evenly but said nothing.

They were a few miles from the school, parked in front of what looked to be a used bookstore. Across the way was a patisserie where a few people lingered outside on small, wooden benches. It would have been charming if Ana hadn't been preoccupied with watching Eames speak into his phone outside the car. He hadn't wanted her to hear their conversation; Ana knew it was for her sake that he'd made Arthur pull over.

She also knew she could afford to sit and wait patiently for now. After she followed them back into the car, Eames had included an addendum to his earlier promise: Ana had to stay with one of them at all times. No more escape attempts or 'mad dashes' for freedom.

Ana had agreed though she knew they were still worried. She held something over their heads, something that would force the truth out no matter how they felt about it. Unlike them, she had time on her side now and that felt good.

For once she felt as if she had control over her situation. That settled her a little bit, even if she was wrong. Eames _could_ lie and Arthur _could_ tie her down or lock her in a room but Ana chose to believe in the illusion. She was too drained to do anything else.

"Yusuf was sure it wasn't Miron's formula," Arthur said, turning to Eames. "What did he find?"

"It wasn't Miron," Eames said, shoving his phone into his jacket. He shifted out of his seat to look at her. His full lips were pressed tightly together as he watched her. "Apparently, you put something into the mixture that changed it. All Yusuf can say right now is that he thinks it may suppress certain functions of the brain, specifically in the right hemisphere. It's sophisticated stuff- Yusuf sounded impressed. "

"There are areas in the right hemisphere that manage visual images and intense emotions," Arthur said. He sounded thoughtful but the lines around his mouth deepened. "Processes involved with the creation and retention of memories."

"Yes, Yusuf also noted that," Eames said, glancing at Arthur briefly. "He needs more time to study it, which we don't really have. Gideon arrives at approximately ten o'clock tonight. I'm willing to bet that the first thing he does is to cast a net around the city using Ana's description as bait."

He looked back at Ana. "And even if we didn't have Gideon to worry about, there's the matter of Avery and whatever little present you left for him."

"You have five days before Peter finds it," Ana said. She met Eames' gaze. "More or less."

"Well that's a relief, isn't it?" Eames said with a drawl. "As thrilling as our little adventure was just now, I don't particularly enjoy being on the wrong end of a hunting expedition. We need to get out of Paris, perhaps the country altogether, while Gideon is in town. Are you up for some travel, Ana?"

"Why are you so afraid of Gideon?" Ana asked. "Who is he?"

"Gideon Klein is your partner," Arthur said. Ana found it difficult to look away from Eames when he was looking so fixedly at her. She had to physically turn her head towards Arthur as he spoke. "You work for the U.S. government, for the FBI, as a supervisory agent."

She couldn't help it- Ana laughed in surprise. "I'm sorry?" she said. "I mean, from the way Peter spoke I assumed that I was… but not the FBI. That just seems so…"

"You're what's known colloquially as a criminal profiler," Eames said. "A behavioral analyst. As I'm sure you've noticed by now, you have a knack for putting things together that most people miss. It comes in particularly handy as an investigator, not to mention as an extractor."

Ana sobered at Eames' words. "Is that why you want to run from Gideon- because I could get you both in trouble?"

_And myself as well?_

"I think we crossed that bridge a while ago," Eames said. "Gideon knows about us. He has for quite some time. He hasn't come after us because you asked him not to."

"And he just listened to me?" Ana asked, incredulously. She found it difficult to believe that another FBI agent, her _partner_, could turn a blind eye to criminal activity. "Even knowing what you both, what _I_do?"

"He felt he owed us a favor," Arthur said. Eames looked at Arthur sharply but he continued. "But it was a one-time deal. Now that he thinks you're back with us, he won't stop until he finds you. He probably thinks you're in danger."

"_Gideon told me about that first night at the hospital when he finally got to you."_

"_He told me- Arthur was the one who called him. Eames brought you in, in his arms."_

Ana remembered Peter's words and fell silent. She could guess at what favor Gideon thought he owed both men.

"You have the envious ability to secure the loyalty of dangerous men," Eames said, with a slight, teasing smile. Ana felt an odd twist in her stomach at the way he looked at her. "Gideon's a shark. Once he thinks he smells blood in the water, there's no telling what the man will do. As much as it pains me to say, he thinks he's on your side. He doesn't like to see you suffer, Ana, nor does he bear the thought well. But he's also mad and there is no reasoning with him."

"_He's been so worried about you these past few months."_

"If he finds you, he won't bother listening to us," Eames went on. "He'll have us arrested and take you back to the states where I'm sure their best scientists will be brought in to study you-"

"Eames, don't," Arthur cut in but Eames waved him off.

"No more coddling, she should know," Eames said. He looked grim and that sent a chill through her.

"If he finds you before we can try to help, he won't consider any other alternatives. PASIV technology was a joint project between our governments so any assistance may very well come from there. They're more familiar with it than the private sector. Make no mistake, Ana, the PASIV was created for military use. If they figure out how you managed to block memories, helping you regain what you lost won't be a priority."

Arthur said nothing and Ana took his silence to mean that he agreed with Eames.

"So, running is the only alternative?" she asked softly. "Until I can be fixed. I have to run?"

Arthur sighed. "Eames is right- Gideon will turn you over to people who have other agendas. Give us a chance to at least try."

Ana looked down. She realized that Arthur was keeping to his promise and giving her a choice but as far as she could tell, there really wasn't one.

"Where can we go?"

**###**

They drove back to Ana's hotel room first: she had to pack and Arthur had left his laptop there.

They decided that the safest place to go was to Eames' safe house in London. It was a short enough flight that Yusuf could move quickly when he finished his analysis and Eames knew the neighborhood like the back of his hand. He had a close network of associates there, more so than he did anywhere else- after all, it was his old stomping ground.

"I give Gideon two or three days before he realizes you're no longer in the city and even then, he'll assume we went to Lyon. Arthur owns some property there under one of his decoy aliases- Gideon will follow the trail like a good little agent," Eames said with a satisfied smile as Arthur opened the door to the hotel room.

Ana walked into the suite, feeling a little overwhelmed at how quickly everything was moving suddenly. She stopped in the middle of the living area and looked around.

_Was it only this morning since I was here?_she thought. _It feels like I've been away for days._

"I have contacts that can get us on a private flight out of here by this evening. We can bypass de Gaulle that way," Eames said, moving into the hallway. "No need for any of your wonderfully forged passports, at least for now."

Ana watched as Arthur loosened his tie and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He looked intently down at the screen before realizing that Ana was staring at him.

Arthur frowned and put his phone away.

"You okay?"

Ana nodded numbly. She felt odd, as if she were watching herself from a distance and for once she didn't bother thinking about her next step or to how to stay ahead of Eames and Arthur. The only real thought she had was-

_I have to go wash my hands. I still have Peter's handkerchief._

"You don't seem sure," Arthur said. He moved closer. "Sit down and rest for a bit. Eames will pack for you. I still have things to check up on so it'll be a few hours before we head out."

She looked at Arthur's face and felt a pang of guilt. He _could_ be cruel. Ana could see it in the way he moved, the way he spoke at times- giving orders without a second thought. Arthur was elegant and graceful but there was a carefully controlled brutality in the way he held himself that Ana recognized. Her first impression of him had been _military_ and she knew she was right. However he had shown a depth of kindness towards her that she was still struggling to understand. He _could_ have been angry with her- in fact, he likely was. But instead of lashing out, he'd shown only concern.

It frustrated her because she wanted to hold onto her anger and have someone to focus it on. Arthur seemed the easiest choice since Eames acted as if he were perfectly fine with telling her what she wanted to hear.

_He's easier to read than Eames._

It wasn't because Arthur was more expressive. Quite the opposite; whereas Eames almost exaggerated his expressions, Arthur was stoic and still. But…

_I know your face, Arthur. I know it so well that even now, I know how to read you without really knowing you._

And most disconcerting was that the more she was around him, the stronger the pull she felt towards him. Something about Arthur steadied her.

"I'm not sure of anything, really," Ana said, after a brief silence.

Arthur seemed to hesitate for a moment before tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "You know that this was intentional. That you really did do this to yourself."

Ana felt her cheeks grow warm. "I know," she said. "No one else is responsible for my condition. I know that now."

Arthur's expression grew more strained.

"No, that's not what I..." Arthur pressed his lips tightly together for a moment and then exhaled loudly. "That's not how I meant that."

Arthur stared at her as if he were searching her face for something.

"You decided you'd be better off without your memories. You _planned_ this. You willfully chose to forget who you were, what you had been through," he said. "So why not just trust in that? Why not accept the decision you made when you had that knowledge?"

"Arthur, could you honestly say that I was in my right mind when I did this?" Ana asked, shaking her head. "Do you think this was a rational act? Peter said I changed for the worse, that I became someone he didn't know. How can I accept a decision I made in that state? No matter how bad things were, it's better if I know. If I can work through it, I can-"

"What if you're wrong?"

Ana blinked, startled. "How could that be wrong?"

"What if you'd be better off not knowing?" he said quietly. "What if I told you that I think this is a better option for you?"

"Then we're just going to have to disagree on that," Ana said. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down. It would have been nice to have his support, would have preferred it even, rather than from Eames. "But that's not a very comforting thought."

"Well, it's not meant to be comforting."

Arthur turned his back on her abruptly and walked towards his laptop on the counter. He sat down on a stool and began to type quickly, studying whatever it was on his screen with intense focus.

Ana felt her stomach twist at the dismissal and she watched him for a moment, hesitating before gathering up her courage once more.

"You're an only child," she said. "Your father was in the military. A career officer, maybe. He was older, in his fifties, when you were born."

Arthur's head jerked up and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"Your mother was… a teacher? But she was able to stay home a lot," Ana said. She took a step forward and studied Arthur's expression. "You love them both very much but you don't see them often anymore."

When Arthur didn't say anything she went on, pulling together his little tells and habits that she'd collected over the past day and a half, and wove them into a story that made sense.

"You're ambidextrous but you prefer your right hand when you write or hold a gun. You kick with your left, even though you were injured on that side of your hip. It's an old injury but it still makes your walk a little less even. Most people probably look at you, at your build and think martial arts but you're much less controlled than that in a fight. You aim for maximum trauma, substance over style."

She thought for a moment and then decided. "You're not just military though. Special Forces? You probably went straight to West Point after high school. You implied we knew each other as young children. Did you live next door? Our parents knew each other. You knew my brother well but… but you were my friend first. You were mine and you valued that. You valued our friendship and it was important to you. _I_ _am_ important to you."

"What's your point?" Arthur said. Both hands lay flat on the counter beside his laptop. His face was blank but his dark eyes were sharp and bright.

"I'm glad I have your attention again," Ana said wryly. "What I said just now- was any of it wrong?"

He shook his head slowly, shoulders tense and hunched up.

"It's funny then because I find that last part hard to believe," she said. She looked back at the hallway before facing Arthur again. "You tell me that I'm better off like this, as this new person with no history, no past. But our friendship is a part of my past, isn't it?"

Ana turned away, moving towards the bedroom where she could hear Eames moving around. She didn't want to see Arthur's face anymore, his impassive, guarded expression.

"Whoever I was before… I think if I really meant anything to you, you wouldn't be so quick to throw me away."

**###**

"I think I found something."

Ana closed the door behind her and looked at the small plastic baggie Eames held up. There were three white pills inside.

She looked down at her suitcase, which lay open on the floor, and then at her clothes and other belongings on the bed. It was clear he'd been going through her things closely and Ana bit down on her irritation.

_What's the point? It doesn't really matter anyway._

"Where'd you find it?" she asked. She leaned on the door wearily.

"Amongst your toiletries," Eames said, handing her the bag. He gestured to a beige case on the dresser. "Now, I can't make any claims regarding my deductive skills like you can but I suspect that this may be what you put in the Somnacin before you went into the dream."

Ana opened the baggie and sniffed it, ignoring Eames' curious look.

_It wasn't just chalk on my skirt._

The scent was familiar. Dry and old. Ana stood up and moved past him, picking up the skirt that she'd worn the day before.

"I thought it was chalk from Peter's office," she said after a moment. She looked up back at Eames and held up the fabric. "I found a candy wrapper in the pocket and white powder on the surface near the pocket."

"And that's how you deduced you'd been at a school," Eames said. "Clever."

"Yeah, not so much," Ana said. She threw the skirt back on the bed and sighed heavily. "There was an address in the notebook in my bag. Those things just confirmed that I had gone to a school. But the scent from the powder on my skirt- it smells like both Avery's office and those pills. I should have noticed the difference."

Eames looked at her oddly before letting out a small huffed laugh. "Don't berate yourself for not being a bloodhound."

"I'm not, I just…" Ana trailed off and sat down on the edge of the bed. She stared at her hands on her lap and began to slowly un-wrap the handkerchief from her palm. A few stitches had opened but her cuts were beginning to heal. They itched.

Eames sat on the other bed and stared at her. "Just what?"

"Arthur says that maybe I'm better off this way," she said. She twisted the handkerchief around her fingers. "Just not knowing. Never knowing. He said this was a better option."

"Well, it's not up to Arthur now, is it?" he said. "And you were never the type to let a mystery go unexamined."

Ana glanced at Eames and then nodded at the clothes on the bed she sat upon. "Oh? What was I like?"

Eames raised an eyebrow and smiled, full lips closed over his crooked teeth. It was a secretive smile- both sly and charming and Ana was grateful for it.

"Why don't you tell me what you think first?"

Ana thought for a moment and then shrugged, looking back down at her lap.

"Just based off my luggage and clothing? I wanted to hide," she said. "To blend in. I liked being comfortable but I wasn't really interested in luxury. I'm paid well-"

"_Very_ well," Eames cut in and Ana smiled slightly.

"I don't doubt that but I didn't spend my money on clothing. I was practical." She reached up and touched the necklace underneath her sweater. It was the only jewelry she'd seen in her possession. "Family probably meant a lot to me. I loved my brother."

Ana frowned and then looked back at her belongings, spread across the bed. Newly bought things in muted colors, lacking personality…

"I was likely still mourning his death," she said. "I was-

_Sleepwalking_

"-tired. I was _tired_."

She remembered looking at her reflection, at the ribs she could see and her prominent collarbones. Her pale skin and limp hair. She'd lost weight as she'd noticed Arthur had, but she'd had the presence of mind to buy new clothes.

_I wanted to hide the loss, just as much as I wanted to hide myself._

Baggy clothes would have made it obvious. So would loud colors.

"Yes, you were," Eames said gently. He reached out and took the handkerchief, putting it aside before wrapping his larger hands around hers. Ana looked up at his face and saw he'd gone serious again.

"You wore dresses," he said. "You always wore these pretty, little things- I never saw you wear the same dress twice. You were wildly curious, almost to a fault, and you were quick to smile and easily amused by the people and things around you. You were genuinely kind."

He leaned forward, his gaze intense and solemn.

"Some people in dream share do it for the money, or the chance to build something that never before existed, or for the power that knowledge can bring them. But you… it was all about the unfolding of a mystery. You lived for the pursuit of truth. You used to sit in the corner of the room and watch us work and you'd break us open with your bright eyes, all without asking a single question. It unnerved most people, to be honest, but it was glorious to witness."

His voice was fond and warm and Ana couldn't doubt his sincerity. And yet….

"So I enjoyed what I did?" Ana said. Her hands were hot in Eames' grasp but she didn't feel like pulling away yet.

"You had a soft heart," Eames said. "I won't lie to you- you struggled with the criminal aspects of it and after a while it took its toll on you. Oh, you loved going under. You told me once that no one could hide in a dream; that everything was clearer in them. But I don't think you realized that it also meant people's darkest thoughts, their most wicked desires, would also come to light. It began to wear you down, jumping into the most vile, horrid minds. You came in too quickly and you were pushed too far, too soon."

"I study criminals for a living," Ana said. "I find it hard to believe I would be squeamish about any of that."

Eames shook his head. "It's not the same thing. Outside of dreams, you can distance yourself from the people you study but imagine diving into someone's mind. Imagine being surrounded by them, having every single breath you took in saturated with their presence. Being in the mind of a white collar thief is one thing but what do you think it would be like if you went into the mind of a killer? A murderer? Someone who tortures others, not for gain of fortune, but for simple enjoyment?"

Ana mulled over that for a moment. She knew she was no shrinking flower and that any dream she entered would have been of her volition. Still, she understood what Eames was saying- how could anyone be prepared to enter someone else's mind, especially one that was disturbed?

"It was my decision though. Any job I took, I made the choice to go," Ana said. She cleared her throat. "I was aware of what I was doing. Right?"

Eames stared at her but said nothing.

"Why would I have done anything I didn't want to?" Ana pushed him.

"Arthur chose your jobs," Eames said finally. "He was your point of contact for dream share for a long time. He always made sure to pursue the most _interesting_, most profitable jobs."

"Arthur wouldn't put me in harm's way," Ana said without hesitation. She leaned back a little, as if physically recoiling from the implication. Even though she'd just argued with him earlier, she knew that Arthur wouldn't intentionally hurt her. "I trusted him and he-

_Feels safe_

"- he's careful. I think he'd know me well enough to know my limits."

Eames tightened his fingers around hers briefly.

"I think Arthur overestimated your enthusiasm and underestimated your distaste for the cruelty in others," he said. "It's something else I noticed about you- you were so eager to please him."

Ana jerked back, offended, but Eames held on to her.

"Listen to me," he coaxed. "I don't mean to give you the impression that you were a puppy, following him around. You were his friend and you held him in high enough regard that when he came to you with an offer, you accepted. It never seemed to occur to you to say no, not until much later."

Ana stilled and Eames went on.

"I wasn't pulled into every job you did at first- my talents are rather niche, after all. However, it seemed that each time we were all together, the jobs became progressively darker and more _intense_. To be sure, you had a lucky streak in the beginning. Arthur was able to shield you from the worst of it but even he couldn't control everything. You started to work with me after a job that… Well. After another job gone bad, you needed distance from Arthur. And I wanted to show you the fun side of criminal activity."

Ana ignored his little joke. "What happened?" she asked. "What made me walk away from him?"

"You woke up from a dream," Eames said steadily, his gaze focused intently on her, "to find a gun pointed at his head."

Ana blinked.

_Of course._

Criminals in dreams were criminals, period. Anyone she worked with would have been suspect.

"You were sold out," Eames said. "Our actions in dreams have real-life consequences. For the most part, you'd worked jobs that had minimal penalties."

"But not that one," Ana said. He paused briefly, looking slightly uncomfortable, before shaking his head.

"No, not that one," he said.

"So what happened then?"

To her surprise, Eames reached out and brushed his fingertips across her cheek, underneath her eye.

"Look at you," he said quietly. "You look like you're about to collapse. There's no color in your face."

"I want to know-"

"And I'll tell you everything I know, just as I promised," he said. "I've told you plenty already, haven't I? But the fact of the matter is we need to put your things away and ready ourselves for the flight out. I have more calls to make and I should get the samples I found in your bag to Yusuf. Arthur's still playing with his little machine so I'd like you to stay here and keep him company."

Ana felt something like desperation bubble up in her chest but she forced it back down. She was afraid that Eames would stop talking; that he'd dangle out bits of information and then jerk them away from her as if he were playing a game.

But he was right. There would be time enough for storytelling and Ana had to let him go without a fight.

She nodded jerkily and Eames smiled again, as if he knew how much it took for her to say nothing.

"Wonderful," he said. He got to his feet and pulled her gently to her feet. "Now, clean those hands of yours while I gather your things and-"

"No," Ana said quickly. "I can manage, I think. I can pack."

Eames looked skeptical but he nodded. "Very well," he said. "But call out if you need any help. It wouldn't do to get an infection now, hm? While I have plenty of friends in London, I'd rather not draw anyone else onto my property."

"Right. Of course not," Ana said. She began to pull away from Eames but once again he stopped her from drawing back.

"There are things you'll hear, things we'll tell you that will make you angry," Eames softly. His voice, though barely a whisper, was firm. "But never doubt for a moment that we tried to do our best by you. That I only thought of you first."

"I believe you," Ana said. She glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up. "I mean, I _will_ believe you."

"Good," he said, sounding satisfied. He finally let her go and moved towards the door. "That's all I can ask."

"Eames?"

He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, mouth already tilted back up in a faint grin. It was as if the moment that had just taken place never happened, all the intensity and passion gone in the time it took to blink.

It unsettled Ana to see Eames change so quickly.

"Were we…" Ana stopped and then looked away, no longer sure she should ask her question.

Eames turned back around to face her though his hand remained on the door knob. "Were we what?"

"Our relationship," Ana said finally. "What was it? Were we just colleagues or friends? Or..."

Ana laughed to hide her sudden embarrassment. She could figure it out for herself over the next few days- she felt silly, like a teenager with a crush, for even asking.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "I only meant that-"

Eames grinned suddenly- a brilliant, surprising expression of joy and Ana found herself smiling back automatically.

He tapped his nose and winked, saying nothing else before walking out.

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	14. Chapter 11

**A/N:**Another long(er) chapter to make up for the long update time. I do a lot of magical science abracadabra hand-waving here but *shrugs* it's an AU, yes? I hope it doesn't sound too farfetched or heavy-handed.

In any case, I would love to hear everyone's thoughts on the latest!

**Chapter 11**

Arthur was sitting at the dining room table when Ana found him.

She'd woken up only a few minutes before, disoriented and hungry, and had decided to wander through the silent, empty halls in search of company and food.

Eames' safe house had turned out to be a rather large home in Kensington, which meant nothing to Ana as far as she knew about London. Sitting up in the unfamiliar bed, her heart still pounding from a dimly remembered dream, she had to mentally flip through her memories in order to regain her sense of time and place.

She remembered-

…_packing…_

…_Arthur's silence and increasing tension…_

…_the private airfield and the small plane…_

…_the tinted windows of the car that drove them through the streets of London…_

-being so tired that Eames hadn't bothered with the tour he'd promised her on the flight; once they arrived, he pulled her into one of his guest rooms and she'd crawled into the soft, roomy bed without protest. She guessed that she'd been asleep for a little over three hours, peeking out at the darkening sky through the sliver between the heavy curtains that shielded her from the rest of the world.

The room she'd been given was furnished tastefully but the décor was distinctly masculine- all dark wood and white walls, with pops of bright colors from the framed art. A large wardrobe stood diagonally against one corner and she'd spotted a familiar suitcase propped up against the door.

She found a set of clothing on the writing desk across from the bed- loose pants, a warm, heavy sweater, and almost absurdly luxurious slippers. Ana had run her hands over the soft fabric of the sweater and played with the white mink fur of the slippers before changing. It seemed Eames' earlier excavation of her belongings had worked in her favor after all, though she wondered when and how he'd been able to get her new things between the hotel room and flight to London.

The air was still and cold when Ana slipped out from her room and she felt as if she had to move quietly, like she was in a church. She wasn't sure if it was due to being in someone else's home, but she hadn't wanted to call out for anyone and disturb the not entirely uncomfortable silence. Either way, the house wasn't quite what she expected from Eames and yet it suited him perfectly.

_Big and bold on the surface but thoughtful, with a hundred little details hidden away from plain sight._

And after a few minutes of exploring, she had come across Arthur on the first floor.

Ana stopped just outside the dining room and studied him.

Whatever he found back in Paris, whatever it was he discovered on his laptop had made him anxious and agitated through the rest of the day and during their trip. He used the in-flight phone and spoken in tense, hushed tones to Dom, the extractor she'd been told about the day before. Though she couldn't make out every word- Arthur had stayed far enough away from her to make eavesdropping a near impossibility- she'd heard enough to know he was planning on emailing something to him to for perusal.

But that was earlier.

Now, Arthur stared down at small red object on the table in front of him, elbows propped up on the edge, with a strange expression on his face. The lines around his eyes and mouth seemed smoothed away but his eyes were old and tired. His collar hung open and Ana watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his forearms flexing with the movement.

He reached towards the object and then pulled back and Ana realized that he'd likely been repeating the action for some time.

"Hey," she said softly, breaking the silence. Arthur looked up but remained silent, watching her with his dark eyes.

Ana walked inside, taking in the paintings on the walls. It seemed Eames was an art connoisseur who favored surrealism and she decided that she'd study the pieces throughout the house more closely at her leisure. Like her bedroom, the furniture in the room was dark and refined and oddly comforting. It gave her the sense of being protected and Ana couldn't help but feel reassured.

Arthur straightened as she sat at the table beside him. Now that she was closer, she could see the object was a die. Before she could look closely at its surface though, he'd closed his hand over it and put in his shirt pocket.

"What was that?" she asked.

Arthur looked away, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"Nevermind," she said after a short silence. "You don't have to-"

"My totem," he said. "It's a weighted die."

_And why would you need it now? _she wondered. Before she could push though, Arthur cleared his throat and looked back at her.

"You sleep okay?" he asked and Ana recognized the subject change for what it was.

"Fine, I guess," she said. She would let Arthur have his secret. "I think I dreamed. I mean, I don't remember what about but when I woke up, I felt…"

_Lost._

Ana paused. Arthur was watching her intently and she looked down, trying to find the right words. "I felt like waking up was falling asleep. I felt like… like I didn't want to wake up."

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned back, looking more exhausted than she'd seen him before. She knew that her words troubled him and she was sorry for it.

"But I'm sure it doesn't mean much."

Arthur opened his eyes. The light above them, an orb chandelier, cast Arthur's face into shadow but instead of sharpening his angles, they made him look soft and vulnerable.

"About earlier, when we got back from the school," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so…"

"Harsh?" she finished for him. Arthur nodded. "Don't worry. I wasn't crying into my handkerchief after our chat."

Arthur's mouth twitched up in an almost smile.

"Right. Good to know," he said. His face grew serious again. "But really, what you said… It's not that I want to disregard who you are or were-"

"Arthur, I said it was okay," she started but he held up his hand. She closed her mouth and gestured for him to continue.

"It's not okay. I didn't mean to make you feel like I... that I didn't care about who you were. I just don't know what the right thing to do is anymore," he said. He let out a small laugh but it lacked sincerity. "Do you know what that's like for a control freak like me?"

"I can imagine," Ana said. She leaned towards and smiled slightly, wanting to reassure him in some way. "But apology accepted, even if it isn't necessary."

"It's not enough," Arthur said. He tilted his head down and the shadows under his eyes became darker.

Ana didn't know how to respond. They sat in silence for a moment and she looked down at her hands, running her fingers across the line of stitches on one palm.

"You know, we used to call you and your brother the Tremont twins."

Ana looked up with a start.

"Matthew and Miranda Tremont," Arthur said, staring at her. "But everyone called you Annie. Ana, by the time we were in junior high. Matt was older than you by less than an hour but you were always going to be his little sister."

"Arthur," she said his name in a soft breath. She wanted to hear more, wanted to shake him and tell him to keep talking, but at the same time she wanted him to take his time so that she could savor each word. "Please."

_Tell me everything._

"I lived across the street from you. I was seven and you were riding your bike with your brother the day we moved in. I was standing on the front porch when I saw you. You looked over at me and waved and smiled. That was my first memory of you. "

Ana considered this for a moment and then asked, "What color was my bike?"

Arthur blinked in surprise and then laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "It was pink. A pink Schwinn. You were definitely a girly girl. You almost always wore dresses but even when Matt and I were off climbing trees and digging in the mud, you never stood on the sidelines. You just got dirty along with us. Your mom… God, she'd get so mad at Matt."

"So the three of us were close?"

Arthur nodded, grinning. His dimples deepened, his shoulders lowered, and the stiffness in his posture seemed to melt away. "You and I were friends first though. I mean, you reached out to me first. Even as a kid you were curious and I was the new kid, the mystery. Matt had his own friends but he was always around. The Tremont twins were the dynamic duo, never too far apart from each other."

"The Tremont twins," Ana repeated. She smiled back at Arthur. "What was he like? My brother."

"Matt was the social butterfly," Arthur said. "He was outgoing and friendly. By the time we were in high school, he was really into soccer and track. But you know, he was one of the nicest people… just a genuinely good guy. Everyone liked him. You really couldn't say a bad word against him."

Ana felt something inside of her settle and warm.

_So when he died, he had people who would miss him._

_Good._

"You were quieter." Arthur's smile faded slightly but his eyes remained bright. "But no less well-liked. I think everyone thought you were shy but you just liked watching them. It's funny- you always knew what to say to people, like you knew what they needed to hear. They thought you just had a knack, a gift but it was because you studied everyone without them even noticing."

Arthur chuckled. "You were valedictorian."

"Was I?" Ana said, amused. "I must have been a little nerd."

"Nah," Arthur said. "Trust me, we spent the same amount of time hitting the books and your grades were miles above mine. That just came easy to you too, I guess. You used to tell me, '_Arthur, the answers are obvious. They're right there in front of you.'_It used to frustrate the hell out of me, to be honest. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't keep up with you but I tried."

Arthur leaned forward again, resting his elbows back on the edge of the table. Ana was struck by how _different_he seemed at that moment. Relaxed and loose, there was something inviting about Arthur then- from his surprisingly sweet smile to his unguarded, casual speech.

"I remember sitting in the cafeteria with you and Matt. You guys were like teenage royalty, you know? I'm pretty sure half the school wondered how the hell I managed to squeeze in next to you and the other half was busy plotting my death by number two pencil."

Arthur shook his head and smiled, almost wistfully. "After all, I was sitting next to _Ana Tremont._ A guy could only be so lucky."

"Now you're being ridiculous," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. "And I resent the fact that you make it sound like I peaked in high school. So who were you, Arthur? Aside from my friend, the boy who lived across the street."

Arthur looked thoughtful.

"I was just a guy," he said. "Did well in school but didn't really make waves. You let me be quiet. I appreciated that."

Ana moved closer to him, intrigued. "And that was important to you?

Arthur shrugged. "We could spend hours together not doing anything important really but I never felt like you were waiting for me to do or say anything. I could just _be_. I think you got that. You never said anything outright but I think you understood that."

"And we stayed friends this whole time," Ana mused. "That's amazing. But what about my parents? Where are they? Do you think we should let them know where I am or do we need to wait?"

"We lost touch for a bit after high school. Things happened and we went our separate ways," he said, almost curtly. He rubbed his forehead with two fingers and let out a long breath, as if he were in pain. "Ana, about your parents-"

"Do they live in Washington too? Or Virginia maybe?" Ana asked. "It has to be the east coast, your accent…"

Ana trailed off as Arthur stared at her, all traces of his smile gone. The skin around his eyes seemed to tighten again and she felt a creeping dread wash over her as his silence grew longer.

_Oh._

_So it's like that._

"How long ago?" Ana asked quietly.

Arthur reached out, his palm facing up and she stared at it for a moment before placing her hand in his. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, though she could feel the raised skin of old scars on his fingers.

"It was right after college. You had just graduated and I… God, I wish I'd been there for you but I was out of the country and got the call too late. I never told you how much I regretted not being there."

"You're telling me now. That counts," Ana said, but her voice sounded strained and weak. She bowed her head, unsure of what she was feeling. The numbness was coming back and with it came a sort of mental fog.

She didn't feel sad, not really, especially when she didn't have any memories to connect with her parents. Grief was something distant and abstract- how could she truly mourn people she couldn't even remember? But like the death of her brother, it felt like a great blow had knocked her down to her knees.

"How?" She forced herself to raise her chin and look back into Arthur's face.

"Your mother was sick. She had been for a while, a little over two years by then I think," Arthur said. "It was a form of leukemia but there were complications related to the chemotherapy that really… Your dad died of a heart attack about a week and a half after. I'm sorry."

There was a sheen to his eyes that hadn't been there earlier. "I'm so, so sorry you have to go through this again."

_They must have loved each other._

_I have to believe that._

"They were both scientists," Arthur said, when Ana didn't respond. "Your dad was a pathologist and your mother was a psychiatrist. She used to bake these amazing sugar cookies every Christmas and she'd pack extra in your lunch so we could share. Your dad had a small garden in your backyard and he'd let us spend afternoons in there, reading in the shade. He never cared that we trampled over his flower beds. Ana, they both loved you very much."

She stared at the grain of the wood that the table was made from. The surface was so shiny, she could almost see her reflection there.

"Do I have anyone else?" she asked.

"You're not alone," Arthur said softly.

She had wanted to know the truth, to know everything, but now that she was faced with the reality of her life, her earlier victory felt hollow.

_What if Arthur's right and I'm better off not knowing?_ _What if this is a chance for something new?_

_A life that isn't riddled with holes, the empty spaces where people I loved once filled._

"You're not alone," Arthur repeated.

_Peter said I wanted revenge because I thought Eames and Arthur had taken Matt from me. But maybe it was because I had no one else left afterwards._

Ana found it telling that Arthur was so open in telling her about her childhood, about himself and his place in her world then and yet seemed so against talking about the recent past.

Perhaps she'd become something that wasn't worth remembering- a twisted version of someone he once knew.

"I'm glad we were friends, Arthur," she said finally.

"I tried to be, yeah," Arthur said. His voice sounded rough. "But I'm afraid I've made some mistakes along the way."

"Well," Ana said, forcing herself not to sink deeper into her thoughts, "who hasn't? Thank you for telling me. I needed to know. I needed to hear that."

The sound of a door opening some distance away made Ana jump and Arthur squeezed her hand gently before pulling away.

"That's Eames," Arthur said, getting to his feet. "He went to re-stock the groceries so we wouldn't go hungry. Come on- let's head to the kitchen and see what we can make for dinner."

Though she had initially woken up hungry, Ana felt as if there was lead in her stomach weighing her down. She stood up slowly and Arthur watched her, wary but worried.

"I'll follow you in a bit," she said, turning towards one of the paintings. "I need moment alone, if that's okay?"

"Of course." Arthur made as if to walk past her but then he stopped and put his hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him, surprised.

"After high school, I went to West Point," he said, his eyes lowered. "Just like my dad and his dad and his dad before him. I didn't tell you until the summer before because I knew you'd be disappointed. You just didn't understand why tradition had to get in our way. You and Matt were off to the University of Maryland and you thought we'd all be together, like always."

"We were kids," Ana said, confused. "But I understand now- you did what you had to do. If I made you feel bad about any of it..."

"Yeah, that's the thing," Arthur said. He raised his eyes with some effort until he was looking back at her. "You didn't say a word to me about how much I must have hurt you. Not one word. You told me you were proud of me. You helped me pack. Hugged me the day I left and never even asked why I lied to your face for almost a year about where I was going. You just gave me a pass, even though you had every right to expect better."

Arthur's expression became stern and cold again but Ana could see the self-loathing in his eyes.

_He's been waiting to say this, even though he hates admitting it._

"I'm sorry about that too," he said. "I want you to know that. I'm sorry because you deserved better. And you deserve better than what you have now but it's not fair because that was just one of a lifetime's worth of apologies I have for you."

Ana nodded. She found that she had difficulty swallowing the odd lump that had formed in her throat.

Without another word, Arthur pulled his hand back and walked out of the room. When she could no longer hear his footsteps, Ana turned back to the paintings on the wall, lost in her thoughts.

**###**

"So that's it then?" Eames said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ana went off her rocker. Fantastic."

Arthur didn't bother responding. Despite his glib tone, he knew Eames was worried. As he watched, Eames rubbed his mouth with the tips of his fingers and began to pace. They were in his office on the ground floor; while he called it a safe house, Arthur knew the truth.

_He brought us here for a reason._

_The location is merely a lucky coincidence._

This was Eames' base of operations. Though he had plenty of other homes around the world, London was where he felt the most secure. The neighborhood was busy enough that Eames could easily come and go without notice, but affluent enough that those in the business wouldn't consider it to be his type of venue. He was very protective of its location and Arthur knew he was only there because Ana felt safer with Arthur.

_He would have left me in Paris to deal with Gideon if he could._

Eames, who studied people for a living, couldn't have missed the way Ana looked to Arthur first each time they made a move. When she entered a room she sought him out, perhaps without even knowing what she was doing, and relaxed once he was found. There would be no leaving Arthur behind as long as that was the case.

It was knowledge that Arthur was willing to leverage as much as he could.

"How long do you think she'd been planning this?" Eames asked.

Arthur looked down at his laptop and at the printed pages beside it. He'd cracked into Ana's personal folder and found the cache of private notes he knew she'd have. It had almost been too easy… until Arthur realized that she had expected him to find her notes- that she'd left them there on purpose.

He wasn't done reading them all since there were literally hundreds of files in the folder but what he had gone through made him physically ill. He'd sent the majority of them to Dom, who was reaching out to his own contacts in an effort to figure exactly how she'd been able to do what she had.

_It should have been impossible._

"A couple of weeks after she left the hospital," Arthur said. "She dated each entry."

"How thoughtful," Eames said drily. He let out a breath. "So she's had almost ten months to come up with this. Let's make sure I understand exactly the situation as it is."

He gestured above him, where Ana was currently sitting in his library on the second floor. Arthur could hear the occasional creak as Ana moved from one bookcase to another. After dinner, Eames had shown her his collection of books and she'd been enthralled the moment she'd seen the contents of his shelves.

"Somehow, someone who's only been dreaming for a three years figured out a way to contain parts of her memory so that her waking self couldn't access them. There's a part of her, a part of her consciousness, that uses those contained memories… to what? Relive her past on repeat? Pretend her brother's death never happened?"

"Not exactly," Arthur said. "She relives her life but she also recreates it. Based on her notes, she can alter things, add or remove elements as she wants. And with each new cycle, she planned to tweak it a little, make different decisions so that the course of her imagined life is changed."

"Hold on," Eames said, stopping abruptly. "What do you mean with each new cycle? How deep is she in exactly?"

"Full disclosure, didn't you say that was best, Eames?" Arthur said blandly. He was not at all ashamed at the pleasure he found from seeing the other man in distress. "You wanted her to know everything about dream share so you told her about limbo- it was in her notes. In fact, it was your description of limbo that gave her the idea in the first place."

Eames paled and shook his head, his arms falling to his side. He was no longer trying to mask his emotions and Arthur felt a sick sort of triumph at the expression on his face. "What do you mean? All I told her about limbo was-"

Arthur walked over to the desk where his laptop sat and tapped a few keys, bringing up the last file he read. He scrolled up and found the section.

"'Eames told me if I go deep enough, if the sedation is strong enough and I die in the dream, I can go into the deepest part of the subconscious mind,'" Arthur recited the words from Ana's notes. "'He said that limbo was an expanse of infinite thought and limitless possibilities. Time moves so slowly that I can live a hundred, a thousand lifetimes, before I truly die. Eames said people have gotten stuck in limbo, forgetting reality altogether. He made it sound like a nightmare and the idea of never waking up once scared me. Now, my reality being what it is, it sounds like paradise.'"

He nodded at the papers.

"Go ahead. Read her words if you don't believe me," Arthur said. "I printed out the parts I thought you'd be most interested in."

"You supercilious bastard," Eames said in a low tone. He was angry but there was fear in his eyes.

"I bet you thought you were doing her a favor. Well congratulations, Eames. In a way, you did," Arthur said. "She met with psychotherapists who specialized in dreams and memory, including Janus- Avery's old advisor. The mind can keep track of more than one thing at a time, everyone knows that, but Ana went one step further. She took her memories, or as much as she could, and centered them on one projection. And then she dropped down so deep that her conscious self could only retrieve surface impressions."

"So one part of her could function in the real world," Eames said. "And the rest of her-"

"Could live in a fantasy world of her making," Arthur finished for him. "She took the job with us because she needed to use the PASIV but also because she wanted us to bear witness to what she had done. And to set a trap."

Eames looked at him sharply. "Explain."

Arthur smiled, feeling the need to be cruel. He wanted Eames to hurt just as much as he was hurting. "She knew that Gideon would follow her. When Ana left Washington she left a clear path for him to find. They have a code, a phrase that only the both of them know- all she needs to do to call him off is to say the phrase. If she doesn't, then it's a signal that she's in trouble."

"And you know this because she included it in her notes."

Arthur nodded.

"Then she wanted us to know that there was a way out for us." Eames rubbed his mouth again, his brow wrinkling. "And the only way to do that is to reconcile her dreaming self with her conscious mind. After we do that, she can connect with Gideon."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "Or we could simply extract it from her. We don't have to force integration."

"We can't leave her in this state, Arthur," Eames said angrily. "She can't go back to her old life without her bloody memories! She'd be as helpless as a-"

"Who said anything about her old life?" Arthur's voice was quiet, even though his heart was racing. "That's not the only option we have."

They had finally come to the crux of the matter.

For a moment, Eames's face was blank but Arthur knew he was deep in thought.

And then his eyes narrowed.

"Analiese Keller," Arthur said. "Ana left you papers for a new identity. A new life. You made a choice once, Eames. She wants you to make another one."

_She wants us to suffer._

_If we try to retrieve her memories, then we could end up doing more damage than good._

Eames' voice was rough as he spoke next. "You can't seriously think that I could-"

_If we leave her like this, then we're responsible for her._

"Not me." Arthur stared hard at Eames. "Ana. She expects you to choose again. And I think it's pretty clear what she wants you to do this time."

_Either way, we're left with the guilt and weight of our memories._

"She wants us to go into her mind," Arthur went on. "She wants us to figure out Gideon's code. But beyond that, I think she wants us to know what we've driven her to do. Her notes were… Eames, you don't understand how angry she was. I'm not done going through everything but there's a chance that if we do try to reconcile both aspects of her mind- memory and consciousness, present and past, she could wake up irreparably broken.

"It's as if she's two different people now, with distinct personalities. The conscious one is dominant; the one in limbo lives far beneath the surface. You try and force them together, she might wake up with two or even three or four different separate personalities. She's been down there for more than twenty-four hours- think about how many lives she might have lived already, how many versions of Ana have existed. She may not even realize she's dreaming anymore, too far gone to remember what limbo even is."

Arthur sighed heavily. He was exhausted. He'd been awake for almost two days and he was beginning to feel light-headed. "And even if Gideon wasn't after us, we're still operating on a timeline. She said we had less than a week before Avery finds out what's happened. We need to go under far before then."

"And what? We go into her dreams, extract the code phrase, and then just… just leave her as she is?" Eames asked incredulously. "You won't even try to help her?"

"Ana was my friend first, you piece of shit," Arthur snapped. The pounding in his head began to grow stronger but he forced himself to keep his voice down. "Don't you dare fucking imply that I'm just doing this to save my own ass or that I don't want to help her. She is my _only _priority right now so quit trying to act like this isn't exactly what you wanted."

Eames' face darkened and he straightened to his full height, taking on an aggressive stance. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Christ, we've gone through this. This whole time, you've wanted to tell her everything," Arthur said. "Now she literally can't remember so it works out even better for you. Go ahead, beg her for forgiveness. Hell, I've already done it. She'll give it to you- after all, the past year will sound like only a bad bedtime story now, right?"

Eames took a step forward but Arthur refused to rise to the threat implied by his curled fists. He turned around, almost goading him into an attack. He closed his laptop, tucked it under his arm, and then pulled his phone out from his pocket.

"I'm calling Dom to check in and then I'm going to bed," Arthur said, moving towards the door. "Feel free to fuck off until I wake up."

"You said she wanted me to make a choice."

Arthur stopped with his hand on the knob. "Yeah?"

"So what about you?"

Arthur looked over his shoulder at the question.

Eames' tone was both mocking and bitter. "Out of the two us it was clear who she hated the most. I may have… done what I did… but you were the reason Lewis came after her and her brother in the first place. Lewis found her because of you. Ana blamed you."

Arthur laughed, but it sounded almost like a sob. "You're an asshole, you know that? Always need to get the last word in."

"What was your punishment, Arthur? What level of hell did she place you?"

He turned back around and opened the door.

"Her notes, Eames. They were all addressed to me."

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	15. The Tremont Twins

**A/N** Sorry for the delay- aside from my usual excuses of work and life, I was working on my TDKR fic and Chapter 12 of this story. Then I realized it was time for a vignette! Here's a peak into Matt and Ana and their relationship with Arthur.

**The Tremont Twins**

**Matt**

Arthur supposed he'd been waiting for this moment since he told Ana the truth about his college plans.

"You lying shit," Matt said, rubbing his knuckles. Arthur looked up at him from the sidewalk where he'd collapsed after the other boy punched him in the face. "I hope I broke something."

Arthur reached up and touched his cheek gingerly. Matt hadn't pulled his punch and Arthur's eyes watered at the pain that rang through his head. He looked around their quiet neighborhood and knew Matt had attacked him specifically at this time because most of the adults were at work and it was too early for everyone else to be up and about during summer vacation.

Arthur ran in the mornings. Matt had known all of this and more about Arthur.

He loomed over him now, all traces of his normal friendliness gone. He was suddenly a very real threat: a six-foot tall jock with a chip on his shoulder. Arthur could fight; at eighteen, he was thin but his father made sure his only son could defend himself. However, Matt worked out regularly and at that moment, he was _pissed off._

"I'm definitely going to have a black eye," Arthur said. He could feel the side of his face already swelling and he wiped his hands on his track pants. "But I'm sorry to say, no cracked bones."

"My baby sister didn't come down for dinner last night because of you," Matt said in a low, dangerous voice.

Arthur closed his mouth, tasting blood, but said nothing.

Ana was _always_ going to be Matt's baby sister and he was _always_ going to be her big brother, no matter how old they were. Arthur knew that his over-protectiveness sometimes frustrated her but it was overlooked because he was so obviously proud of his sister.

"I didn't mean-"

"No, you've done enough talking," Matt said, pointing his finger at Arthur. "Ana is in her room right now, trying not to cry because yesterday you told her that everything you said about being together for the next four years was a lie. You got her hopes up and then you just stomped all over them like she was nothing."

Arthur drew in a shuddering breath. "Matt, she's not nothing to me. You know this."

"I had to watch her hold back her tears," Matt said. "She was trying to be strong in front of me because _you_ hurt her."

For a moment, Arthur stared at Matt's sneakers. They were still untied which likely meant he'd rushed out of his house the moment he caught sight of Arthur.

A year ago, Ana dated a boy who she'd been head over heels about. Arthur had to play the supportive best friend, even though the thought of seeing her with someone else made his gorge rise. When it ended, Arthur could do nothing but watch Ana blink back tears that she never let fall as she tried to put her heart back together again.

The sight of her red-rimmed eyes and shaky, brave smile made Arthur want to hurt someone.

Ana _never_ cried.

To know that she'd come close because of something he did made Arthur felt sick.

"You know, I actually thought you were a good guy, Arthur," Matt said. "And I thought for sure you'd treat her well but you just led her on this whole time. What was it like? Watching her get all excited, knowing that every single word out of your mouth was a lie. Did you get off on knowing you'd hurt her, you little bastard? Did my baby sister entertain you?"

"Christ, of course not!" Arthur cried out. He got to his feet and Matt curled his hands into fists.

Arthur held his ground. He was a few inches shorter and several pounds lighter than Matt but he'd never been one to back down.

"I didn't want to hurt her," he said. "And yeah, I lied but I don't have the same luxury you and Ana have. You know I can't just go off and make my own life up like I want. My father expects things from me, Matt, and you and Ana have no idea what tradition means in my family. You have no idea and you wouldn't understand so that's why I didn't tell her sooner. You don't know the pressure…"

Arthur's voice cracked and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, grimacing at the mixture of blood and snot that streaked his skin.

"You're eighteen, Arthur." Matt uncurled his fists and now he looked confused as well as angry. Even now, he was reasonable, willing to listen, and it made Arthur feel worse. "We've talked about this before. You're an adult now. That means-"

"It means I'm going to West Point, that's what it means," Arthur said. "That's the only thing it means."

"Did you have to lie then? You saw how happy she was. She chose Maryland because it was close to our families, because of _you._ She could have gone anywhere but she stayed here because of you!_"_

Arthur sucked in a cold breath and closed his eyes briefly. The guilt and shame he felt at that moment was nearly overwhelming.

"She's scared." Matt shook his head and for a moment, he looked defeated. A brother who could only watch helplessly as his sister suffered. "Ana's scared stiff she's going to be so homesick but she thought she'd have you and that made everything better. You took that away from her, Arthur. She didn't tell you because she thought you'd be there."

His face twisted up into anger again. "But I guess she just doesn't compare to _tradition_ right? You could have told her sooner and maybe let her get used to the idea but no. You decided to pull the rug out from under her two months before we leave."

He looked back at his house across the street and clenched his jaw. "She thought you were hiding something from her. For months, she knew something was up. Hell, even I noticed but we figured you were her friend_._ You'd tell her if there was something you wanted her to know. She respected you and you just threw that back in her face."

"She has you," Arthur said weakly. "She won't be alone."

Matt's face darkened when he looked back at Arthur. "No, she won't be alone but I'm her brother. She thinks you're-"

He cut off abruptly and passed his hand over his face with an irritated sigh.

"I'm what?" Arthur asked. For a moment, Matt said nothing and the silence drew out until Arthur asked him again. "Matt, she thinks I'm what?"

Matt ignored him.

"You're going to make things right," Matt said, narrowing his eyes. "I don't care how you do it but I'm putting you on watch right now. You're going to get on your knees and grovel and make things right for her."

"I figured you wouldn't want me to talk to her at all."

Matt snorted. "If it were up to me, you'd never talk to her again but it isn't. Ana _loves_ you. It would hurt her more if she thought you were ignoring her, even though this is your fault. You'll break her heart more if you stay away."

Arthur's eye was swollen almost shut at that point and his throbbing cheek made his head feel as if it were caught in a vice. He needed to get ice on it before it got worse.

He didn't move.

"You have to believe that I would never… The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. But she was so _happy_ and I just… I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"I don't want to hear it," Matt said. The heat and fire in his face disappeared and there was only a deep chill in his eyes. He looked at Arthur, looked _through_him like he was nothing. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. But if you brush off Ana, if you hurt her again, I will come after you, do you understand?"

"I won't. I wouldn't."

"Good," Matt said. He studied Arthur for a moment, tilting his head to the side, and then snorted. "And you can forget about getting my blessing, by the way. Did you think I was blind all these years? I know how you feel about my little sister. This stunt you just pulled? Pretty much proves you don't deserve her. You're dirt, you're nothing to me or my family from now on."

Arthur's chest tightened until he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He drew in a deep breath and then another, but each one he took in seemed to burn his lungs.

His eyes grew hot and wet.

With a satisfied expression, Matt took a step back and then turned around, headed back towards his house.

"Matt, wait!" Arthur reached a hand out for the closest thing to a brother he'd ever known. Matt Tremont was the boy who'd helped him fix his bike when he ran it into a ditch, the boy who'd always chosen Arthur first for his line-up in gym class. Ana was his best friend and no one even came close to her, but he knew he could always turn to Matt just the same.

"I'm sorry to you too," Arthur said. "I know I lied to you too."

Matt didn't turn around. He kept walking.

**Ana**

Arthur knew something was wrong the moment Ana came out of the dream.

He timed it perfectly so that he could keep watch over her when she was just about to open her eyes. Once Ana went under for test runs, he'd set his watch by the PASIV's timer.

This time wasn't any different.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

Ana's eyes opened and for a moment, everything seemed as it should be. He knew her habits by now- upon waking, she'd take a quick look at her surroundings before sitting up and going through her experience with the rest of the team.

So this time, when Ana turned her head to the side to look at their architect to her left, Arthur felt a sliver of disquiet run through him.

"Hey, that was cool," Loren said, opening his eyes a second later. He turned to Ana and grinned. "Did you like the carousel I added? The unicorns were a nice touch, right?"

Ana smiled wanly at him and Arthur hurried towards her, dropping his notebook on the desk. She turned to him when he knelt down beside her seat, gently pulling the IV line out of her arm.

"You okay?" Arthur murmured, low enough so that only Ana would hear him. She stared at Arthur and he realized with growing worry that she looked tense.

_She's frightened_

Ana swallowed and shook her head once, before looking back at Loren.

"That was great what you did down there, by the way," Loren was saying as he removed his own line. "That trick with the projections? That was cool."

Arthur just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Though Loren was the same age as Arthur, he acted years younger, speaking as if he were still a teenager. He was talented and sharp though; even though Eames had offered to play both a forger and the architect for the job, Arthur preferred to keep the two separate.

"Thank you," Ana said. Loren flashed her one more grin before getting up and walking over to his drafting table, presumably to touch up his designs.

"What happened down there?" Arthur said, as he stood up to roll the line back into the device. Ana looked at Loren with a frown and shook her head again, deep in thought.

"I thought I saw something," she said, turning back to Arthur.

"In the dream?"

Ana nodded and stood up, straightening her skirt distractedly.

"He's hiding something," she said, staring down at her shoes. She had worn high heels that day and she was eye level with Arthur.

"Should we drop him?" He unreservedly trusted her; if Ana said they needed to pull out, he would without question.

_It would be a pain to settle with the client but we'd be better off,_ Arthur thought.

"Give me a few minutes," she said, frowning again.

Before Arthur could answer her, he saw Eames walk towards them from the corner of his eye.

Over the past four months Arthur had found and secured more intricate, complex jobs for him and Ana. He sensed that she was growing distant and Arthur was worried that she was becoming bored with ordinary extraction.

He understood his own motivations, of course- he was trying to keep up her level of interest in order to keep her by his side. He felt that if he didn't, if he once again failed to give her something worth having, then Ana would walk away from him. The initial rush of dreaming was fading; while Ana could get intensely focused on a single subject or idea to the point of exclusion of everything else, Arthur also knew she had a relatively short attention span.

The need to impress, to _keep_, had made him take on flashier jobs. Jobs that required more than one level at times and bigger teams. Jobs that paid well but had more undesirable elements. It was fine, Arthur could juggle multiple variables at once- all he was really worried about was Ana's lack of enthusiasm towards the jobs he now chose.

"You tell me the minute you think something is wrong," Arthur said. He leaned forward so that his mouth was at her ear as Eames approached, and placed his hand on her arm. "We can let this one go."

"It's something unrelated to the job," she said. He could see the fear in her eyes grow. "I thought I saw-"

"Problem?" Eames said, with a raised eyebrow.

Arthur scowled and ducked his head, leaning back as Ana glanced at the other man.

Eames was the other reason why Arthur was concerned. It wouldn't have escaped Ana's notice that Eames was a natural leader. He effortlessly took command of the jobs they worked on. Arthur was no slouch in strategy but Eames was creative. He preferred to do things with flair than take the straightforward route, as Arthur was more inclined to do.

It burned every time Ana went to Eames for advice or used him as a sounding board for her leaps of deduction. Granted, she still stuck by Arthur and deferred to his decisions over Eames', but Arthur knew the other man was angling for a way into her affections- both personal and professional.

"Ana saw something that was off in the dream," Arthur said.

"Loren bad then, pet?" Eames said, keeping his gaze focused on Ana.

Instead of responding, Ana shrugged and headed back towards her desk near Loren. Eames narrowed his eyes at the brush off. He made as if he were going to follow her but Arthur grabbed his arm.

"Hey, drop it," Arthur said. "She'll tell me if there was really something to worry about."

"It's not just that. She's terrified, Arthur- look at her eyes," Eames said, shaking off his hand. "I think that's definitely something for us to worry about. Unless you haven't noticed, that sort of reticence is wholly unlike her."

"Of course I've noticed," Arthur said. He shook his head, annoyed at Eames' implication. "But I trust her."

The matter was closed until Ana took it up again. It was that simple.

Without another word, Arthur turned his back on Eames, returning to his desk. He picked up his notebook and flipped through it, trying to find where he left off.

It was the reason why Eames was the one who saw Ana attack their architect.

Arthur heard a loud crash, a scream of surprise and pain, and then the stomach-churning sound of flesh being hit. He whirled around and saw Eames moving across the room and before he could think about it, he was sprinting after him.

Ana almost always carried a gun with her on jobs. Her status usually eased the way for traveling with a weapon and Arthur could procure almost anything in any country otherwise. She wasn't a fighter but she was a steady aim and Arthur felt better knowing that she was armed and could take care of herself if needed.

It was one of the reasons why she wore dresses and skirts- her thigh holster was easy to hide and easy to get to.

Ana was straddling Loren's waist, her skirt hiked up and her shoes kicked off. She had one hand clenched around his throat, fingers digging into his flesh, and Arthur could hear Loren gurgle as he fought to breathe. He was trying to pull Ana's hand off his throat but Arthur could tell that he was more afraid of the Glock 23 his mouth was stretched around.

It was obvious that she'd attacked him by surprise and that she'd hit him with her gun repeatedly. There were bits of hair and flesh on the handle and barrel and her fingers were stained a dark red.

_She's going to kill him._

Ana had trigger discipline practically drilled into her brain. She _knew_the only time to put her finger on the trigger was when she intended to fire. Arthur felt his heart stop as he stared at the gun in her hand.

"You bastard!" she screamed, pushing her gun deeper into the man's mouth. "How dare you try to find my family. How dare you try to use my brother!"

Loren closed his eyes and bucked up, trying to throw her off. Arthur could see tears streaming down his cheeks. His nose was crooked and his cheek was most likely shattered from the sick, sunken look of his face.

"Ana, calm down," Arthur said, holding up his hands as he approached her. Her mouth was set in a snarl and her eyes looked crazed, as if she was barely in control of herself. "Put the gun away. We'll make sure Loren talks."

_He went after her brother._

_Big mistake._

Arthur knew Matt's wife was expecting. Though he hadn't spoken to the man since the summer before college, he'd kept tabs on her family, making sure that they were healthy and happy and completely in the clear of the dream-share underworld. Matt Tremont was a professor of comparative literature at Georgetown. He'd been married for nearly six years and he and his wife were expecting their first child. Ana's first niece or nephew.

Matt, and now Sandra and the new baby, were the only family Ana had left since their parents' death.

If Loren had done recon on Matt…

_She'll kill him before he can tell us why._

"He's seen them!" Ana said, almost hysterical. "He knows she's pregnant, he's seen their faces! He knows where they live, Arthur. I can't let him go, I _won't._"

She looked back down at Loren who was now choking, his face turning a dark red. Ana's eyes seemed to burn with rage and sheer terror.

"I won't either," Arthur said calmly. He took a step forward. "But we should ask him some questions. Figure out how he found out and if anyone else knows."

Ana's head jerked up again, her mouth an open O of shock. "Anyone else?" she whispered with wide eyes. "Oh God, what if-"

Eames moved from behind Ana and jerked her up, pinning her arms down in a bear hug. Arthur steeled himself for the sound of gunfire but she dropped her weapon. Arthur rushed forward, picked it up and then put his foot over Loren's neck where Ana had gripped him. The other man was in no position to fight back- he looked up at Arthur blearily, gasping as air rushed back to his lungs.

Arthur aimed the gun at his face. "Don't."

Ana kicked her legs back trying to drop Eames, trying to find traction, but Eames crouched over her so that she was bent forward with his body draped over her back. Her arms were crossed over her chest and his hands circled her wrists like cuffs.

"Listen to me," he said with a steady voice, even as she fought against him. "We're going to make sure Loren tells us everything, do you hear? He won't leave this warehouse until he does, and even then we may not let him leave at all. But you've got to stop fighting me and relax. _Relax._"

For a moment it seemed that Ana was going to ignore him, hissing and spitting like a feral cat. But after a few minutes, she finally settled down. Eames let her go and took a step back though he stayed close. She stood still, swaying slightly, staring at Arthur with eyes so wide they were nearly round.

"Arthur," she said his name brokenly, her chest heaving with the struggle.

Arthur nodded briskly, knowing what he had to do next.

"Eames, get her out of here," he said, turning back to Loren. "I'm going to deal with him now."

"Arthur," Ana said his name again and he saw with no small amount of alarm that she was now shaking badly and her face had gone an unhealthy white. Her legs buckled and Eames caught her before she could collapse.

"Looks like it's you she wants," Eames said, too lightly to be truly casual. His gaze settled on Loren and his expression grew sharp. "Never fear, I'll take care of our erstwhile architect."

Arthur added more pressure on Loren's throat with his heel as he watched Eames whisper into Ana's ear. She closed her eyes and nodded once, turning around in his arms so that she could no longer see Loren or Arthur.

When he was sure she could stand on her own, Eames let her go and pulled out his own side arm, gesturing for Arthur to move away from Loren.

"Take her back to the hotel," Eames said as he and Arthur switched places. His face was almost emotionless as he spoke. "I'll come by when I'm done with him and tell you what I know."

"Stanto's close by- he might be interested in the job. You'll play extractor for now," Arthur said. He unloaded the gun in his hand and pocketed the bullets. He wasn't going to give it back to Ana loaded in her state.

Leaning forward so that only Eames and Loren could hear him, Arthur added, "If it comes to it, there's a landfill about two and a half miles east. No surveillance."

Eames nodded and Loren's eyes seemed to bulge from his face.

Without looking back, he walked towards Ana and guided her out of the warehouse, leaving Eames to finish what Arthur felt was his right, his _responsibility_ to handle.

###

"How is she doing?"

Eames locked the door behind him and looked around the quiet hotel room. It was Ana's room but there was no way Arthur would have left her by herself. Arthur leaned back from his place on the couch and closed his laptop, mindful of Ana's feet on his lap. As he took off his suit jacket, Eames' gaze was fixed on the sleeping body nearly covered by a thick pile of blankets next to Arthur.

Arthur studied the other man, noting that his knuckles were badly bruised and there was a spot of blood high up on his wrinkled sleeve. Otherwise though, Eames was spotless.

He was a professional after all, and Arthur expected no less from him.

"Sedated," Arthur replied. "I thought about heading out tonight but I don't think she's in any condition for a long flight."

Eames frowned. He looked away from Ana and pressed his lips together when he saw the half-empty mug of hot chocolate on the side table closest to her. There was a plate of untouched pastries and Eames let out a loud breath.

"Was that necessary?" he asked.

"I know what I'm doing, Eames," Arthur said tersely.

Ana hadn't stopped shaking, even after they were safely back in her room. In fact, her hysteria intensified. Arthur had helped her change into warmer attire and wrapped her up in all the blankets he could find, afraid that she was going into true shock.

She babbled hysterically about Matt and Sandra, staring at Arthur with a face that suddenly looked years younger. It was as if fear had turned her back into a child. She couldn't stop moving, couldn't keep herself from twisting her fingers together or from looking around the room as if ready to bolt and Arthur could tell that she was working herself up into a full blown panic attack.

She would have fought him if he'd given her pills or a syringe so Arthur had called up room service and ordered her favorite sweets.

Watching her drink hot chocolate from the mug as he held it up for her had made something inside Arthur's chest twist and tighten. She _trusted_ him and when the sedative he slipped into her drink began to work, Ana placed her feet on his lap and fell asleep without a fuss.

_So yes, Eames, it was necessary._

_Don't question me when it comes to Ana._

"Do you?" Eames asked. He narrowed his eyes. "Ana and her brother wouldn't happen to be twins, would they?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. As far as he knew, Eames didn't know anything about Ana's background. He'd made sure that her information was buried just as well as his own history was.

"Yes," he said carefully.

"He lives in Washington with his wife," Eames went on. "She's four months pregnant, barely showing."

"Loren knew all this?" Arthur asked and Eames nodded. "How? Who was he working for?"

"Fortunately for us he was in business for himself. Thought he could pull our dear little Ana in for a job. High stakes stuff in Egypt but he knew you wouldn't go for it," Eames said. He took a step towards the sleeping figure and stopped, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand tiredly. "So he decided to take the direct approach."

"And how'd he know about her brother?"

At this Eames looked at Arthur and grinned nastily. There was something mean in the expression, as if Eames knew something Arthur didn't and it was _bad._

"When Ana was a child, she wore her hair back in a ponytail. And they held hands when they could, when they walked side by side- little Ana and little Matthew. She wore a lot of pink, didn't she?"

"How did you-"

"You need to keep your projections in check, Arthur," Eames said. The smile disappeared and the odd, blank expression returned. Arthur knew what it meant; Eames was angry.

"The job you did in Iceland- you were the dreamer on the second level, weren't you?"

"Get to the point and stop asking questions you clearly know the answers to," Arthur snapped.

"Alright, then," Eames said. He sat down on the low coffee table and stared at the back of Ana's head, rubbing his lips with the tips of his fingers. "There was a park on that level but it wasn't what Loren had planned and he noticed. You created it from a memory, one that was strong enough to supersede whatever design you were meant to use. I bet you didn't even notice."

Arthur said nothing but a dawning horror washed over him.

"So he went exploring while the rest of your team was actually working. He saw two children, a boy and girl and it didn't escape his notice that the little girl looked very, very familiar."

_Loren found them through me._

_Because I'd been sloppy._

But the rational part of Arthur knew that wasn't the entire truth. For all science knew about the mind, unpredictability was the only real constant in dreams. Sometimes, ideas or even memories were more powerful than consciousness and lucid dreaming was forced to take a back seat to the older, stronger unconscious.

"When he went to question her though, her brother shot him," Eames said. He glanced at Arthur and snorted. "Still, he saw the logo on the sweater her little Matthew had been wearing. It was for a preschool in Virginia state. Didn't take much more than that to track him down."

"And Loren didn't tell anyone else?" Arthur asked, swallowing down the lump that had formed.

"He didn't," Eames said. "And he knew there was no point in lying to me. I know where his own boy lives, after all."

"Jesus Christ, Eames," Arthur said.

He heard Ana sniffle then and her feet twitched. Arthur gently stroked one sock-clad foot, looking over to her face, half covered in blankets.

In a quieter voice, Arthur said, "What did you do with him?"

"He's been handled," Eames said, after a short silence. "Clean up's done. Have you taken care of everything else?"

"Stanto's in," Arthur said. "We'll move our work to another space, farther downtown tomorrow. The sooner we can wrap this up, the sooner I can get Ana home. I don't want her traveling alone."

"No rush," Eames said, almost breezily. "Like I said, it's been handled. We're in the clear."

Arthur shook his head at Eames. While Arthur was no stranger to violence, he and Eames held different opinions on dealing with threats. He couldn't say for sure what he would have done to Loren to ensure his silence but Eames always favored the permanent solution.

Eames opened his mouth to say something else when Ana began to whimper, moving sluggishly as she rose to consciousness. Before Arthur could move, Eames leaned forward and placed his hand on her cheek.

"Easy there, pet," he murmured. "You're alright, just open your eyes. There you are."

Ana blinked up at Eames, her full lips parted. Her eyes were glassy and Arthur could tell she was still very much under the effects of the sedative. She'd go back to sleep in a few minutes, whether or not she wanted to.

She leaned forward and looked at Arthur, who squeezed her ankle. "Hey," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Stay here?" Ana asked. Her eyes were so dilated they were nearly black.

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere," Arthur said. He ran his hand over the length of her leg over the blanket and back. "We're good."

"Matty?" Ana frowned. Her words slurred together as if her tongue was too thick for her mouth. "Matty. We need to make sure… make sure he's…"

"He's safe, too," Eames said. Ana turned back to look at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. He ran his fingers lightly though her hair, tangled as it was. "No one's going to find him. Loren will never go after him."

"Loren won't?" Ana asked. Her face was already becoming slack again and Arthur could tell she was struggling to stay awake. Her head dropped back onto the pillow but she stared up at Eames. "He'll leave us alone?"

"Loren will never come after you or your family," Eames said firmly. "And no one else will, either. Everyone's safe, Ana."

His thumb traced her hairline and Eames' face looked almost tender as he looked down at her.

"Your eyes feel heavy, don't they?" he said, dropping his voice down a note. "Don't you fight it. It's alright to go back to sleep. Loren's gone and your family is safe. Don't you fight. Close your eyes, pet."

Ana blinked again and she licked her lips. "But how? How… how did he… he know..."

Eames gave Arthur a sidelong glance before turning back to Ana.

"He got lucky. And for the most part, he was bluffing. He didn't really know anything." The lie came out easily, smoothly, but most importantly- _convincingly_. "I promise I'll tell you all about it later, my brave girl. For now, you just close your eyes."

Ana gave Eames a small, painfully sweet smile. She turned her head towards his hand and slowly, slowly fell back to sleep.

Eames continued to stroke her brow with his fingertips even though Arthur knew his hands were probably aching. The knuckle on his left hand was beginning to swell but still, Eames stayed focused on her face until it was clear she was dreaming.

"You can wash up in the bathroom," Arthur said.

To his surprise, Eames bent down and pressed his lips against her cheek. He closed his eyes briefly, whispering something in her ear before standing up and walking to the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves as he left.

For a moment, Arthur could only curl his hands into fists and try to calm the angry beating of his heart by breathing in and out, in and out.

**###**

**Thanks for reading. Please review!**


	16. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Thanks for all your reviews/PMs. I already know how this will end but I think the core pairing will still come as a minor surprise. Maybe?

Amanda- Ah, Criminal Minds. I'm more of a Travel channel person so I had to look Criminal Minds up. I have a specific actor in mind for Gideon Klein but yes, I can certainly see the connection between the CM!Gideon and this story. If it helps, I had Ana work as a "consultant" for the FBI because I wanted a character who made a living out of investigative work (which I think would be a great extractor-like job) and had access to information most people wouldn't be privy to. Happy to tell you who I pictured as Gideon though- it may help you see him in a different light.

**Chapter 12 **

_Do you remember St. Petersburg, Arthur? _

_I still have scars from that day. I remember the smell of blood and smoke, the way you looked at me from across the room and told me to run. I think you actually expected me to leave you because you closed your eyes like you didn't want to see me go._

_Or maybe it was because you didn't want to see me stay._

_I don't remember feeling any pain. I remember grabbing your suit jacket- can you believe I actually felt bad for ruining it? Silly, the things you think about sometimes. I remember trying to keep down, away from the window. Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can feel the crunch and crack of the glass underneath my arms and my knees. I remember needing to get to you. I remember being terrified when you closed your eyes. At the time I thought you were giving up, that you were going to take your last breath right there across the room from me and there was nothing I could do about it but watch._

_I remember all these things but I can't remember feeling any pain when I crawled across broken glass to get to you._

_When we got to the hospital, they thought I was injured much worse than I was. You bled all over me like something out of a horror movie. I wore white that day, do you recall? I made a joke about not having to worry about the Labor Day rule because we were out of the states. You laughed when I said that and I was happy, stupidly happy, because it was going to be a good day. An easy job, right?_

_I sat in the waiting room for hours while they operated on you. I could barely speak Russian but I knew then the nurses felt sorry for me. I know what pity looks like. They thought I was already in mourning, the grieving lover left behind. Tragedy is so romantic when you're watching it unfold. I sat there not knowing if I had done the right thing. I spent the night terrified you'd die, terrified they'd find us. _

_But even that wasn't the most painful part of the night. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? I've always wondered- how did you feel when I walked out the door of your hospital room? Did you know it was the last time you'd work with me?_

_It's a memory I won't regret being rid of._

**###**

_As you can tell I've been doing a lot of reading, Arthur. Lots and lots of reading. Gideon knows I'm up to something but I don't think he knows toward what end. Sometimes I'll find books on dreams on my desk or links to lines of research that I haven't yet come across and he'll look at me and smile like we share a secret._

_I don't think he'd be so helpful if he really knew what I was up to._

_I've discovered some interesting things._

_Did you know the human brain is capable of running dozens of sentient cores? Call it parallel processing at its finest. The mind can be fractured, the cores can be partitioned, and yet the brain as a whole will still function perfectly. Isn't that amazing? _

_Let me ask you another question. What causes multiple personality disorder? You can answer this question. I looked up your records from West Point. A double major in psychology and computer science- my belated congratulations. _

_You know that MPD arises spontaneously and stems from unimaginable suffering. I'm self-aware enough to know that my loss is not at all great compared to all the millions of poor souls who have felt pain before me. But my point is MPD, as a reaction, is fascinating. It's both a survival strategy and a form of sacrifice: "I cannot live with this memory so I will offer up a part of myself in order to continue." Or would you prefer the paradox: "I will become less so I can become more."_

_In any case, the mind will do this on its own. It will split itself apart._

_Can it be done deliberately?_

_Can we reach into our minds and contain certain parts of ourselves, never to see the light of day again? Memory itself is inconsistent. We add details where only a framework used to exist; we add flesh where once only a skeleton stood. Can we bring a hammer down on our memories and shatter it like ice? Like glass? Can we put one piece _here _and another piece _there _so that we can live one life while we live another? Can one part of me dream while the other part wakes?_

_I think so. Everyone I've spoken to seem to think so. Isn't forging a sort of mental fragmentation? Eames once told me that he "contains multitudes," like Whitman. I think we all do. I think we all _can.

_It's never been done before but that doesn't mean it's impossible. _

_You were the one who told me that nothing was ever impossible, especially in dreams._

###

_It's three in the morning as I write this. I don't want to go back to sleep. My dreams feel so real now. I can't bear them. Each time I close my eyes I'm back in the warehouse, kneeling on the cold concrete floor._

_They threatened to cut me open. Lewis and his men. They tied me down and ran a knife over my skin. Cut cut cut. Each time, they said they'd cut deeper until you came for me. They didn't though- they just wanted me to be afraid so that when you finally came, I'd be hysterical. _

_And I was, wasn't I, Arthur? I was scared out of my mind._

_I don't think I ever really came back to myself, now that I think about it._

_They tied my brother to a chair and beat him with a brick. I heard it every time they hit him. I heard his screams from the next room and I prayed to every deity I knew that he'd keep screaming so I'd know he was alive._

_What does that say about me, Arthur? That I wanted Matty to suffer because otherwise, he'd be dead._

_Every time I fall asleep, I'm back there again and they are once again holding the gun to my head and to Matty's head and asking, "which one?" I can hear my brother yelling at you, begging you not for his life but for mine. He had a child and a wife. He could barely speak. And still, he begged on my behalf._

_Eames looked at him and then at me and I knew he'd already made up his mind but you should have known better. I trusted you to know better. But then again you were always such a coward when it came to the important things. _

_I'm going to give you a chance to do better though. Most people will never get the opportunity I'm giving you. _

_This time Eames can't make the decision for you. _

_Which one will you save? Which one will you kill?_

_It's all I dream about now._

_###_

"I'm making tea- do you want coffee instead?"

Ana shuffled into the kitchen in her slippers and shivered slightly at the cool air. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched from the doorway as Eames moved energetically from one end of the room to the other. His kitchen was neat and expansive, with high windows and plenty of light. It was well-used but clean, and as he opened and closed drawers and cabinet doors, Ana could see that Eames was a man who took cooking seriously. She'd spotted truffle salt and oil, small containers of saffron, and at least five different kinds of honey.

A small electric kettle hummed faintly near the stove as he pulled out a carton of eggs, two tomatoes, a package of sausages and a ration of bacon from the refrigerator. He placed them beside a loaf of bread and turned to face Ana.

"Well?" he said expectantly. "Coffee or tea? But perhaps you'd prefer juice?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," Ana said, feeling a little bewildered. She stared at his face for a moment before looking away to study the small framed paintings on the walls. "Tea? Tea is fine."

Eames smiled crookedly at her and motioned for her to sit down on one of the high-backed stools near the island counter. "Tea is more than fine, Ana. Tea is _excellent._"

She smiled back but the expression felt weak. Thoughts whirled around in her mind like a maelstrom.

Ana had woken up nearly an hour before but she'd stayed in bed, flipping through the book from her bag. She was troubled by what she read and all the marginalia she'd come across written in her own, spiky, slanted writing. She realized that she hadn't just been unhappy before- she had been obsessed with the idea of memory and time and how interchangeable they were. Story after story of people who had been displaced by time. Past, present and future, separated and then combined and then taken out of order.

The earlier version of herself, whoever she was, had been fixated and it worried Ana to see proof of her instability.

_No wonder Peter was worried._

She finally rose when she heard the sounds of movement farther in the house, knowing that Eames was up and about. He had a certain gait, a cadence to his footsteps that Ana recognized. She'd gotten up and taken a shower in the bathroom across the hall, drying up as quickly as she could. It had been fully stocked with clean towels and toiletries and Ana had recognized the scent of her own shampoo from the green and white bottles. The aversion to her reflection still lingered though and she could only look at herself in the mirror for short bits of time. Ana wondered at her revulsion, unsure from where it came from.

After getting dressed, she discovered more clothes in the wardrobe. Sweaters and skirts and dozens of dresses, all of them soft and well-made; it was odd for Eames to keep such things in a guest room. While she couldn't know for sure unless she asked, Ana could tell that the room hadn't been occupied before her. There was dust in the corners, on surfaces… except for the wardrobe.

_Maybe they belong to an old lover? _

_But why would he keep them if she wasn't coming back?_

It was yet another mystery she wanted to examine but in the end, hunger had won out over curiosity.

_At least I have an appetite,_ she thought, as she watched Eames crack eggs over a frying pan on the gas stove. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she placed her freshly bandaged hand over it, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"A proper fry up will take care of that," Eames said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "We'll hit all the major food groups. Butter, bread and meat."

"Do you need any help?" she asked. "You cooked dinner last night and I can help. I'd like to help."

Eames smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, your considerable talents do not extend to the kitchen," he said lightly. "Just keep me company and we'll call it even."

Ana stared at him but he seemed not to notice.

"What time did you go to bed?" he asked, taking plates from an overhead cabinet. "I heard you shuffling around in the library far past midnight. Find anything to your fancy?"

Something at the edge of her mind clamored for her attention at the mention of his library but Ana put it aside for the moment. It was important, a piece of the puzzle, but not urgent.

"A few things," she said slowly. "You have the classics but you're not really a big fan of them, are you?"

Eames looked down at the stove, seemingly amused. "Not really," he said. "But what library isn't complete without Dickens and Austen?"

"But that's not to say you don't love them," she said. "Some of your books are first editions and they're very well taken care of. I didn't touch those."

Eames gave her a fond look before turning his attention back to breakfast. "You can, you know," he said. "This isn't a museum and books were made to be read."

Ana said nothing. For a moment she studied him as he moved about. He wore a snug blue sweater and dark trousers that looked soft and worn; it was a rather toned down outfit for him. His cheeks were clean shaven and his hair was loose and dry making him seem young and fresh. She supposed it was another disguise- he looked like a different man.

And most importantly, he looked at ease.

_He feels at home here._

Something about the thought made her uneasy.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she was startled at the sound Eames made when he placed a mug in front of her.

"It's far too early to be so jumpy," Eames said, raising an eyebrow. Behind him, Ana could smell the scent of cooking bacon. "That's Earl Grey but maybe I should brew chamomile?"

"It's fine," Ana said, reaching out for the mug. Before she could pick it up, he grabbed her wrist and shook his head. His touch was hot from cooking and his skin was rough.

"Use the handle," he said. "You'll scald yourself."

Ana nodded and looked down at his hand. His fingers were thick but long and they nearly encircled her wrist.

"You paint," she said, looking back up at his face with wonder. "I knew some of the paintings around the house were fresh. Eames, you're very good."

Eames ran his thumb over the delicate veins on the underside of her wrist and huffed out a shy but pleased laugh. In the pale morning light, his eyes were a clear light blue.

"In my spare time," he said. "It helps exorcise the demons when my head gets crowded."

"Do you have a studio here?" she asked. "You were painting last night. With oil paints."

Eames' smile grew wider. "Yes to all."

With her other hand, Ana pulled his hand from her wrist and laid it flat on the counter, back side up. "You washed up this morning, even shaved, but there's still paint on your fingers. You smell like turpentine, just a hint of it, but it's there. I stayed up fairly late last night because I slept during the day but I didn't hear anyone leave or enter the house. You have an alarm system- I would have heard it deactivate if you'd left."

She looked at him and then reached up, running her fingertips over his cheek. The skin there was also hot but smooth and soft.

"And there's a little bit of… grey?" she said. "Right here on your face."

Eames blinked, his smile growing softer at the edges. He leaned forward and she could see that his lips were slightly chapped. "People in our business used to fight to work with you. Do you know why?"

Ana shook her head, confused at the odd change of topic. "You said I was one of the best so…"

"That's not the only reason," Eames said. "There's an intensity about you that you can't help. For all your pretty, sweet smiles, you have an edge. Your mind is so quick and your light burns so bright, it can sear. But they were all moths drawn to a flame. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't," Ana said honestly.

"You could rip someone apart and they'd come back for more," Eames said. "Because they knew, that for one brief moment in time, all that focus, all your concentration was directed on them and only them. There was no lie they could tell, no dream they could build to conceal themselves. You'd see right through to the very heart of someone."

He moved closer, resting on the counter and she could feel the heat from his body. "Do you know what that's like for people like us? For people like me?"

Eames was looking at her intently and the feeling of unease grew to a near panic. The weight of his expectation was heavy, pressing on her from all sides. She licked her lips nervously and saw that his gaze was drawn down to her mouth.

_No, Eames._

"Eames, the pan." She leaned back and gestured behind him. "Your food will burn."

Something shifted in his face and he drew back sharply. His eyes seemed to flash with-

_Disappointment._

-surprise and he hurried back to the stove without another word. Ana let out a soft breath and closed her eyes briefly in relief. She knew what he wanted from her but something just didn't seem to add up. More than ever, the feeling of something _missing_ rang deep.

She reached out for her tea and carefully took a sip. Eames continued making breakfast and he had started to talk about the process of painting- of preparing the canvas and mixing the colors. The earlier mood had dissipated but Ana knew she had to be careful around Eames now. It should have been obvious- he'd wanted from the beginning to tell her about her life but now Ana began to wonder what exactly he had to gain from doing so.

_Or maybe I should ask what he stands to gain back?_

"...and then I find myself losing hours so I have to set an alarm," Eames' voice pulled her back to the world and Ana played with her mug. "Otherwise, I'd spend the entire day in the studio."

He scraped something onto a plate and then placed thick slices of bread back into the pan. "If you'd like, I can show you around."

Ana thought for a moment and then nodded. She really was curious about Eames' paintings. On the surface they were explosions of bright colors but Ana could detect something darker, deeper behind his work.

"Are you a forger in real life?" she asked suddenly. Eames grinned at her and winked, moving around the bread with a spatula.

"I have many talents, both in dreams and out of them," he said and Ana took that to mean _yes. _"But I dabbled in the arts long before now. I even fancied being an artist when I was younger, though I also wanted to be a circus performer, an astronaut and a giraffe, of all things."

Despite herself, she smiled.

"You have the talent for it. I don't think I know much about painting but what I've seen is incredible," she said. The odd shy expression crossed his face again and Ana had no doubt it was genuine. He covered it up swiftly with a wide grin.

"Careful there, my ego can only take so much inflation," he said with mock seriousness. He turned off the stove and began to arrange the food: three plates piled high with sliced tomatoes, fried bread, eggs, bacon and sausages. Taking the plate with the most food and a shiny silver fork, he headed back towards her and set it all down with a flourish.

"Now eat up. I'll not have you wasting away more than you already have. Swear down, you'll give me a complex if you don't fatten up some."

Ana stared down at her plate and then looked back up at Eames. She was hungry _but_… "This is a meal for three people, Eames."

Eames chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, don't be shy now. You could put that away with ease, pet. I've seen it happen before. In fact, you used to put away pounds of biscuits and sweets like the world was running out-"

Ana heard a creak and then a step, step, _step_ and she sat up eagerly, looking towards the door. Sure enough, Arthur came into view but her greeting died abruptly at the sight of his face.

_What happened to you?_

Arthur looked as if he hadn't slept at all and his eyes were puffy and raw-looking. His short hair was wet and slightly curled at the ends but there was a dusting of stubble on his face. She could smell the strong scent of his soap- much different than the one Eames had put in the bathroom.

But that wasn't what made her words dry and shrivel in her throat. It was the way he looked at her. With such sadness that she couldn't help but move towards him. Dimly, she heard Eames make a noise of disapproval behind her.

"Arthur," Ana said, stopping before him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

A faint smile flitted across his lips but his expression shuttered and became guarded, as if he were suddenly aware of how he looked. "I spent the night reading," he said. "I should have slept more but…"

Arthur trailed off and pressed his fingers to his closed eyes. When he opened them again, she could see they were slightly red. "I just need some caffeine and I'll be fine."

"Eames made breakfast," Ana said, tugging at Arthur's sleeve. He wore a dark button up and pale slacks and it was clear he'd made an effort to make himself presentable but she could feel the slight tremble in his hands as she pushed him into a chair. "You should have some. It'll help."

"I'll be fine. You don't have to-"

Ana pushed the food Eames had given her towards Arthur and she turned to Eames, already moving towards the kettle. "Can I make coffee? Do you have a coffee maker here somewhere?"

She felt Eames' hands curl around her upper arms and he gently but firmly pulled her back towards the counter.

"Never mind that, Ana," Eames said in a low voice. "Sit down and eat your food."

He was teasing her but there was no trace of humor in his face as he looked at her and then at Arthur. Even when he smiled next, there was a _meanness_ in the hard glitter of his eyes. He seemed oddly bigger now, looming and dangerous, and it made her head hurt, how different he could seem from moment to moment.

_Are you a forger in real life? _

"I'll make the coffee for our dear, tired Arthur," Eames said, turning his back on them then.

He opened a cupboard but what she saw inside, in the very brief glimpse before he closed it again and went about making Arthur's coffee, made her stomach drop.

It should have been funny, really but Ana had never felt less like laughing.

###

After breakfast, Ana followed Arthur into the other guestroom. She'd offered to help Eames with the dishes but he waved her away and told her that he'd come find her in a bit.

There were more things for her to explore in the house and she wanted to go back to Eames' library, but Arthur…

_Was my friend before._

_Is my friend now, maybe._

She didn't like the thought of him being alone, especially since he only picked at his food and drank several cups of coffee. Eames had been chatty enough, filling the silence with talk on the daily news. Ana was interested to find she could follow what Eames was saying, though not by much. Still, she wasn't completely ignorant about current events.

There were large holes in her knowledge though and Eames had promised to pick up a few papers later that day.

For now though, she wanted to keep an eye on Arthur.

"Really, I'm used to not getting enough sleep. Real sleep, I mean," Arthur said as he crossed the room to the small table in the corner. His room was set up similar to hers, except his had a desk and a leather chair.

"That sounds unhealthy and dangerous," Ana said, frowning. She pushed the door close behind her and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Sleep deprivation can lead to confusion, memory lapses-"

"Depression and hallucinations," Arthur finished for her. He sat down at the desk and turned towards her. "And a host of other problems, yes, I know.

"I told you that, the first time we went into a dream together. I wanted you to know what you were getting yourself into. Somnacin opens your mind, allows some parts of your brain to stay active in dreams when they would otherwise not be. It also disrupts sleep patterns in some people. It's not addictive but it can be habit forming. Some people end up taking Somnacin instead of dreaming naturally. It's sleep deprivation but not dream deprivation, which is why amateurs stop sleeping altogether."

Ana thought about this for a moment. "Because people who don't know any better think that if they dream, they're sleeping. But they never reach delta sleep on their own. Is that why?"

Arthur looked at her curiously before responding. "You know, it's interesting what you can remember and what you can't. You've retained the essentials of your personality, your skills, the things you've learned but none of your history. How do you think that happened?"

"I don't know," Ana said. She studied his face carefully and then tilted her head to the side. "But you do, don't you? You've learned something new. Is that what kept you up all night?"

Arthur nodded slowly.

"Will you tell me?" Ana asked.

"I will," Arthur said. "I just… Once you know everything, you've heard everything I've done, you won't be able to look at me the same way. And I won't be able to blame you."

_He's already given up._

He meant it, Ana could see that much. Arthur didn't seem like the kind of man who would go down without a fight and yet he acted as if her hatred of him was inevitable.

It was frightening.

"When I woke up three days ago in that hotel room, the first person I saw was you," Ana said. She looked down at the stitches in her palms. "I can't explain it but the moment I saw your face, I knew I could trust you. Some part of me knew you were safe. Whatever happened to change that, the part of me that trusted you was strong enough to overpower it."

She turned to him again. "That has to mean something, doesn't it?"

Arthur let out a shaky breath and bent forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair.

"It does," he said, in a quiet voice. "It means you wanted this to hurt."

_It means I wanted to hurt you?_

"Because of my brother," Ana said. Arthur raised his head. "I wanted to hurt you and Eames because of my brother."

"Yes," Arthur said. "But you were done with the both of us before that. Before Matt died, you were already back to living your life without dream-share. Without me or Eames."

"And was I happy?" Ana asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. You walked away from it, Ana. I wanted to respect your choice so I left you alone. I won't lie- I did check up on you every now and then but only to make sure you were safe. I didn't look any deeper than that, I swear. And then I took a job that… I took a job that pulled you back in the worst possible way."

Ana watched him carefully before making up her mind.

"Alright, Arthur. It's time you told me everything," she said.

"I want to know everything."

###

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	17. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Does anyone remember the author's note from the first chapter, when I say there's a love triangle? Here it is.

Also, thanks so much for the reviews! If I could hug all of you in person, I would.

**Chapter 13**

"Okay." Arthur didn't move from his position and Ana saw him blinking down at the floor with his hands curled in his hair like claws. "Okay, I can do that. But for the last time, this is your chance at a fresh start. There's no going back. Once you know, you can't change anything anymore. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Ana said without hesitation.

All the fight seemed to leave Arthur then and he simply asked, "Where do you want me to start?"

Ana placed her hands in her lap and fought down the shiver of fear and excitement that threatened to burst through. She didn't think it would be so easy- she thought Arthur would push back again, ask for more time but it seemed she had struck at the right time.

And so she sat very still, afraid that any movement on her part would cause him to change his mind.

"How did I get into dream-share?" she asked. "You brought me in. Why? When?"

Arthur drew in a deep breath and sat up, leaning tiredly against the back of the chair. It was odd to see him slumped over, the normally neat and straight lines of his body curved and soft. It signaled defeat, a visible indication of his surrender.

"I said we lost touch for a little while after high school," Arthur said. "But that doesn't mean we didn't keep in contact throughout the years. I called or sent notes every now and then. I kept tabs on you but you had your life to live. I didn't want to interfere, especially when I went underground. Our kind of extraction isn't exactly on the legal side of the law and I wanted to make sure that nothing I did reached you."

"So what changed?"

"It was the perfect storm of things, actually." Arthur tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His hair was drying and she could see the slight wave in the strands. It made him look surprisingly boyish. "I'd just finished a big job some months before. It was a dream-share job, something I didn't even think was possible. Up until that point I was in something like a partnership with Dom- that is, Dom Cobb. He was in some trouble and I tried to help him out, mostly because I was good friends with his wife, Mal. She passed away and… Well, Mal was the one who introduced me to Dom and she was…"

Arthur trailed off and passed his hand over his face. Ana suddenly realized he was close to tears. Before she could say or do anything though he seemed to pull himself together and went on, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

"I'd been running around the world for what seemed like years at that point but after that job, I was free. Dom retired and for the first time in a long time, I was on my own. I kicked around for a bit. Did a few things here and there. I suddenly had all this time and freedom on my hands and I wasn't sure what to do with it."

"You were restless."

"That was part of it, yeah," Arthur said. "I knew I wanted to stay in dreams. It's my life's work and I couldn't imagine doing anything else but I knew my limitations. I'm an analyst at heart. I like details, things to pick at and tear apart. In a pinch, I can build-"

"Like Ariadne?"

"Sure, like Ariadne but I'm best on point. Show me the plan and I can make things happen. I can work solo but I'm better in a partnership and I knew then I needed someone to balance me out. Someone who was a big picture thinker, who could take details and turn them into one story that made sense. Someone who could make connections between disparate systems. Who understood people at a base level. I needed an extractor."

_And you needed someone you could implicitly trust._

Ana looked at him sharply. "Me."

He finally turned towards her, nodding. "You used to tell me that people were essentially topographies. You saw us all as maps. Every action and reaction was a destination, a road that led to some essential truth about a person. I realized that I needed someone who thought that way; someone who saw the mind as a map would be able to apply that knowledge to dreams."

Ana found herself agreeing with him. His words had struck some truth inside of her that she hadn't known how, up until that point, to articulate.

_A slight gesture of the hand, a twist of the mouth, the way someone's shoulder tilts._

People as topographies- it was the perfect analogy.

_A calloused finger, the pattern of mud on a trouser leg, a faded patch of fabric on a sweater._

A description of the way she _thought_, coming from Arthur, was disturbing. It meant he truly knew her if he knew how she saw the world.

"And that's why you chose me," Ana said. "Because you thought I could navigate through people's dreams."

"Your skills were part of the reason, yes," he said slowly. "But the truth was that you were _bored_. You worked hard to get to where you did. You liked your job because it suited you and you liked the life you made for yourself but I could tell you were starting to get tired of it all.

"When we were kids you wanted to grow up to be like Sir Francis Drake or Charles Darwin. You wanted the rush of discovery and adventure. You were so determined to do more, to have more but you ended up…"

"Working for the FBI?" Ana said wryly. "Not everyone grows up to be president, Arthur. Maybe in comparison to sharing dreams, it really was dull. But most people-"

"You weren't _most_ people, Ana," Arthur cut her off abruptly. "You kept a draft of your resignation letter on hold for months before I came to you. You were ready for a change but I don't think you even knew what your next move was going to be. Sure, you wanted to stay close to your brother and you liked working with Peter Avery, who was your partner before Gideon, but that was it. You were like a compass without a true north to point toward."

Ana narrowed her eyes but decided to let it pass for now. It was obvious Arthur had kept a much closer eye on her than he let on.

_How long did you watch me, Arthur?_

_How close were you to me without me knowing?_

Or had she known Arthur was around? If she had been tired of her life as it had been, as Arthur said she was, did she allow Arthur to approach her?

In the end, Ana could only take his word at face value.

"So dream-share."

He nodded again and sat back with a sigh.

"You loved it," Arthur said. "The first dream we ever shared… I can still remember your face. You were so excited. You wanted to stay under for hours; in fact, you begged me for more time. I created cities, forests, mazes- all for you to explore. You were like a kid set loose on the playground. I knew I'd done the right thing in coming to you, even if it was just to give you that experience."

He cut off suddenly and then let out a soft laugh. "At least, back then I knew."

"And I was okay with the criminal aspects of it?" Ana asked. "Even considering what I did for a living?"

"You ran consults on investigations for the FBI," Arthur said, "and you taught at Quantico. Everyone was tripping over themselves to pull you into cases. But I think you became a profiler only because you were interested in people. Crime and punishment was never your thing- it was the study of behavior that drew you in. Instead of exploring the world, you explored people. I think it was your version of adventure- the mind as the last great frontier."

Ana frowned. "Still. Entering people's dreams without their permission…"

"Our subjects were bad people, Ana," Arthur said firmly. "You wouldn't do a job if our standards weren't met. You took information from people who killed, stole, lied and cheated. If children were involved, you wanted the job. We didn't deal with petty or mundane grievances. Otherwise you'd pass."

"_It began to wear you down, jumping into the most vile, horrid minds. You came in too quickly and you were pushed too far, too soon."_

Ana thought about what Eames told her and realized that he likely hadn't known about this aspect of her partnership with Arthur. Jobs like that must have come with a hefty price tag but based on what Arthur was saying, it had never been about the money.

"_I think Arthur overestimated your enthusiasm and underestimated your distaste for the cruelty in others."_

He had been so quick to vilify Arthur.

"That was one stipulation you had for me," Arthur said. "The other was that your brother wouldn't get involved in what we did or the people we worked with. We never took jobs in the states and no one knew your real name. Most of the jobs we took were short- once you signed on, I'd hand over the research before we even stepped on a plane. It was safer that way."

"But then things started going wrong," Ana said.

Arthur's face darkened. "Did Eames tell you that?"

Ana hesitated before nodding. It was the truth, after all. "He said we were lucky in the beginning but then the jobs got more intense."

"You were getting burnt out," Arthur said after a short, thoughtful pause. "You kept agreeing to jobs because you thought you could help people but I didn't know that then. I couldn't see how worn out you were getting. I thought… I don't know, that you were getting bored, losing interest in dream-share just as you had with the FBI. It was my fault. We started going into minds I should have never let you into. I should have seen the signs but I was so worried…"

He trailed off and looked down again.

"Worried about what?" Ana asked.

She studied him closely, thinking. Arthur had stayed in her life even when she didn't know he was doing so. He had come to her at the moment when she was ready for something new. He found jobs that met her requirements.

Arthur hadn't just been worried about Ana becoming jaded.

It was more than that.

"_I can work solo but I'm better in a partnership."_

"You were worried I would leave you," she said.

Arthur smiled thinly.

"Every time I called you, you'd answer," he said. "Sometimes I'd get you in the middle of the night but you never said you were too tired or too busy. When we worked together… You had such faith in me, Ana. You trusted me without any reservations. I could never figure out what I'd done to earn that, especially when it should have been the opposite, but it was there. I didn't want to let that go."

"I worked with you exclusively and then I worked with Eames," she said, thinking back to the conversation at the hotel. "What happened, Arthur? Eames made it sound like I couldn't handle the type of jobs we took anymore but that doesn't seem right. If I left you, it was because of something other than me being simply fed up."

And she knew she was right. Eames and Arthur had given her small insights into her past personality but those were enough to give her a picture of who they thought she was. She was _loyal_. For her to leave Arthur there had to have been a deeply personal reason. One that had little or nothing to do with their work.

_It could have been something to do with Matthew_, she thought but that didn't make sense.

She worked with Arthur, then she worked with Eames and then she was out. Whatever happened with Matthew had taken place after she'd already walked away from dreaming altogether.

"_Before Matt died, you were already back to living your life without dream-share. Without me or Eames."_

"It was a lot of little things that added up to make you leave. The jobs we took on got riskier and not just topside or in the real world. The more corrupt the mind, the more dangerous the environment. Some minds were so dark that their dreams were nightmares, no matter how much structure we tried to build around them. It started to affect the way you looked at people and the way you looked at yourself."

"What do you mean? Affect me how?"

Arthur drew in a deep breath. "You developed this… this _thing_ with mirrors. I'd find you looking at your reflection sometimes as if you didn't recognize yourself. When I finally asked you what was wrong, you told me that behind every face was something dark. No matter how much they tried to hide, you could always find it. I think you were trying to find what was hiding behind your own face. You felt like… you said you felt like you were becoming contaminated."

"Contaminated," Ana repeated, feeling odd. They were talking about her as if she were someone else. "You mean by other people's dreams? Where did that come from?"

Arthur turned his face from her and looked back down at the floor.

"We were in a dream once made up of mirrors- it was pretty fucking horrible. It was just a maze of mirrors, all reflecting our faces. The architect got a little too creative with it and built the thing bigger than it should have been. You got lost during a test run and… You _panicked_. I heard you screaming my name and I tried to find you but by the time I got to you-"

"I broke the mirrors with my hands," Ana finished for him. She remembered Arthur's frightened, angry face in the bathroom of the _Le Royal Monceau_. "I was trying to find my way out. Or… or to destroy what I saw."

"You wouldn't stop screaming," Arthur said dully. His face went slack for a moment, as if he had to distance himself from the words he spoke. "Then you took a shard and…"

He stopped and closed his eyes. She watched him breathe in and breathe out slowly. For a moment, Ana wanted to tell him to stop, to get some rest.

But another part, cold and curious, made her stay silent.

_I wanted to know everything, after all._

"You took yourself out of the dream," he finished, opening his eyes. "And I followed you out. When we woke up, you said you were fine. You even laughed like it was no big deal you'd just ripped your own throat open. You wanted to finish the job so we did. I did what you wanted me to do, not what I should have done. I just wanted to believe you'd be okay.

"I made so many mistakes, Ana. There were jobs I shouldn't have passed along. Things I shouldn't have let you do before you were ready."

"But what was the last straw?" Ana pressed on. "Bad jobs, I get that. And I want to hear about them all. I want to hear about every single job we did together. But what was it that made me start working with Eames?"

"St. Petersburg," Arthur said. He looked at her with a solemn expression. "It was the last job we worked together. It was supposed to be an easy job- it was just you and me and an architect. Quick in and out. But we were ambushed before we could secure the mark. I was shot twice and you… You still have scars, don't you? On your arms."

"Yes," Ana said, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up and showing him her forearms. "I noticed them on my legs as well. I didn't know where they had come from of course, but I knew they were old. They're not too deep though."

Arthur reached out and pulled her towards him. Their knees bumped together and his hands were cold but gentle as he touched her bare skin. She could hear him breathe in heavily at the sight of her faint scars.

"You were the dreamer and you'd just gone under to do a final run through. Boyd was our architect and he ratted us out to the subject," he said. His voice was hoarse and shaky again. "He was going to leave you down there alone. He told me… Fuck, he was going to cancel out the timer and just keep you under. But you woke up just as he pulled a gun on me. He had his back turned to you and I knew you were awake but you stayed still, just waiting for an opening."

"You thought I'd attack him?" Ana asked, with some surprise. "What could I have possibly done?"

"Ana, you weren't a stranger to violence," Arthur said ruefully. "I didn't want to let him know you were conscious but even before you could move, shots were fired through the windows. I found out later that we weren't the only team he'd turned on but of course, _they_ didn't know that difference. Boyd was killed instantly but we were separated.

"You were on the other side of the room and I didn't get down fast enough. I took one hit to my side and another through my arm. I told you to get out- you were near the exit and you were armed so you had the best chance of escaping but you didn't listen to me. You didn't leave me."

Up close, Ana could see his bloodshot eyes and the shadows underneath. She felt his fingers pass over her scars as if he were writing lines on her skin.

"You got these from crawling across the floor. They kept shooting into the room so you had to stay low. It was only lucky you spilled coffee on yourself that day and had to change into pants; otherwise, your legs would have been ripped to shreds. You tried to use my jacket to protect your arms but you still got hurt trying to get across the room."

Ana stared at him. "To get to you."

Arthur's hands tightened slightly. "I can barely remember getting out of there. You must have dragged me out of the room and down the back way. I was in and out of consciousness but I remember you telling me to stay awake. You kept talking to me, I remember that. I held on to your voice asking me how to say things in French, in Russian, the conversion rates in Holland, the weather in spring in Manila. Somehow you got us to a hospital- you used your contacts to keep us off the radar."

"And then what happened?"

"I was out of surgery and just waking up when you came to see me," Arthur said. His expression had gone flat, his eyes glassy and distant, and Ana couldn't help herself. She pulled out of his grasp and reached up to place her hands on his face. His stubble was rough on her palms and his skin was cool and clammy.

She saw his lips part at her touch and his gaze sharpened and focused.

_Look at me, Arthur. Keep talking and stay with me here, now._

"Do you know what you looked like when you came into the room?" Arthur asked. His thin face was ashen. "You wore white that day and when I saw you again, you were covered in red. You were covered in my blood and your arms... It was like that dream, _just like_ that dream."

"But it was real," Ana said. "Did you forget it was reality?"

"No," Arthur said harshly. "How could I forget? When you saw me, you smiled. After all you'd been through, after everything I put you through, you smiled at me."

"You were my friend, Arthur. I was happy you were alive."

_But I must have been so scared._

"Your friend. Sure. You told me you were sorry because you ruined my suit jacket. You told me... you told me that…"

"I told you what, Arthur?"

"You have to understand something- I was in that bed, looking up at you and thinking about what a mess I'd made of things. You got me to that hospital safely which meant you put your career at risk. Gideon was still new then and he was suspicious of you, of what you were doing outside of his watch. You put yourself on the line like that because of me. It never should have been that way.

"I kept thinking about all jobs that went wrong. All the mistakes I made. I was so fucking _sorry_." Arthur was getting agitated again, his face becoming harsh and stern. "I dragged you down into my world and all you had to show for it were scars and nightmares. And there you were smiling at me. You weren't even angry."

"Hey," Ana said. She shook her head, running her thumb near the corner of his mouth in an effort to calm him.

She decided they'd both had enough. She knew Arthur didn't really want to break down in front of her; her stoic and dependable Arthur wouldn't have wanted to display his emotions like this, pushed to his breaking point in someone else's home.

"Listen, let's take a break and-"

"You loved me," he snapped. And then his face crumpled. "You said you were in love with me."

Ana's heart stuttered.

"And I told you you were wrong. That I could give you nothing in return."

###

_It wasn't that you lied to me. It was that you lied to me __again__. That somehow you thought, in your own turned around way that you only said what I needed to hear. You wanted to protect me- but from what? You? Dreaming? The cruelty and greed of other people? The world?_

_How arrogant of you to think that you had that responsibility, ever. As if I were a child and you were the adult and you knew better. Who gave you the right to think that? I certainly didn't._

_You know what I saw when I looked down at you that day?_

_I saw in your eyes the constant push and pull of the future. I saw that I would never really have what I wanted. You'd never say what I really needed to hear because of your guilt. You brought me into dreaming because you wanted me to have a greater life but you never asked me what I wanted. Not really. You never asked the important questions because you thought you already had all the answers._

_You of all people should have understood that dreams change because people change._

_In that one moment I wanted you to understand that I came with you because I was curious and excited about the possibilities of dream-share. But, Arthur, when the dreams became bad I stayed only because I loved you._

_With a few poorly chosen words, you invalidated everything I felt, every hope I harbored, and made me a fool._

_And it wasn't even the first time._

###

"There you are- I've been looking all over for you."

Ana came back to her surroundings slowly. She turned towards the doorway of her bedroom where Eames stood, holding a mug. His smile was wide and warm as he looked at her.

"Tea?" he said, walking in. "Unless you want something more substantial. It's been quite a bit of time since breakfast."

As if in a daze, Ana looked back at the open wardrobe she'd been standing before. "No," she said faintly. "I'm… no, tea is fine."

It had only been an hour since she left Arthur behind in his room but it felt like much longer. From there, she'd wandered back into the library before returning to her room. There'd been something niggling at the back of her mind, details that Ana had only begun to make sense of that she wanted to follow up on… but mostly, she needed space away from Arthur.

It hadn't surprised her, not really, to know she'd felt strongly for him-

_I loved him_

-but to hear Arthur say it made her suddenly shy and off-balance. Ana didn't doubt that it was true- in fact, the revelation was almost anti-climactic but _knowing_ that she said the words to Arthur stirred up something inside of her that she'd been ignoring. Ana felt drawn to him the moment she saw his face and now perhaps she knew why.

_He never said he loved me back._

With Arthur though, actions meant so much more than words ever could. His hold on her had been tight and possessive, almost tinged with desperation and only the sound of his mobile going off had loosened his grip. She escaped as soon as she was able, needing to be alone, needing to figure out the whirlwind of emotions she felt, only…

What she found in the library had made an even bigger mess of things.

_What was I thinking? How could I have gotten things so tangled up?_

_No wonder I had to walk away from everything._

"…dollop of honey but you never were a fan," Eames was saying. She was startled to find him right beside her and she knew he noticed the slight jump she gave at the sound of his voice. He handed her the mug which she took with both hands and stared down at its contents. "Still, I know the library can get dusty so I thought some refreshments were in order. I have a packet or two of biscuits, if you want."

Ana bit her bottom lip as a hysterical laughter threatened to break through.

_A packet or two. Sure, Eames._

"In any case, I was wondering if you were up to a grand tour of the place now."

"Maybe later," Ana said. She forced herself to smile. "I'm okay for now. I just… I need some time alone just now. Please."

Eames looked at her closely, a faint frown on his full mouth. The smell of paint and turpentine was stronger around him and she took a step back, trying to get away from the scent.

"Are you alright?" he said slowly, ignoring her request. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "You seem a bit on edge."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center her thoughts.

_Why didn't you say anything, Eames?_

When she opened her eyes again, she looked back at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. She reached out with one arm and ran her fingers over the various fabrics.

_How long, Eames?_

_For how long?_

"Ana." Eames put his hand on her arm and realized he'd been saying her name repeatedly. "What's wrong?"

Ana opened her mouth and then closed it, unsure of how to respond.

The kindness in his voice made her heart heavy because of how much it held, because of what it might _mean_. She thought back to every encounter she'd had with Eames over the past two days and suddenly everything- every action, every word, seemed to take on a new significance.

_Arthur had to know what came after._

_What did he do then?_

_Did I want to hurt him or did I really…_

_Did I really…_

"What's been weighing on your mind then, hm? You look as if you've seen a ghost there," Eames said. He took the mug from her hand and put it down on the floor before straightening again. He was so close she could feel the heat from his body and she wanted to back away from it all. She felt like running away, hiding from the things she'd done and said and felt.

_Ghosts._

_My ghost._

Ana decided she didn't like the person she'd been, especially if her suspicions-

_I'm right. I have proof here._

-proved true.

So Ana stared at her hands, not sure which question to ask first, not sure if Eames would even answer her truthfully.

Finally she realized- there was only one real question to ask.

"Eames," she said quietly, forcing herself to look up into his eyes. "How long did I live here?"

She waited for his reply but there was only silence.

###

**Thanks for reading/reviewing!**


	18. Chapter 14

**A/N: **So yikes- I haven't forgotten about this story! In fact, I started writing this chapter almost as soon as I posted the last. Then I caught the flu which turned into pneumonia. I'm still bed-bound after a couple of weeks and I've only just now started to be able to sit up and even stand up for a few minutes at a time. Little goals are good, right?

Anyway, I'll try to write more in the next few weeks but I'll be off my feet for a good amount of time. It's crazy how tired this thing makes me- reading and typing are enough to make me want to take a nap.

In any case, thanks for sticking with the story. As always, I appreciate all your reviews, and even the folks who just drop in to read!

P.S. The Nader study on memory and the "memory erasing pill" is real. I've just tweaked it to fit the story.

**Chapter 14**

"I was going to tell you," Eames said, finally breaking the silence.

He rubbed at his mouth and took a step back. Ana felt herself relax slightly; he'd been crowding her and she hadn't realized how tense it made her until he moved away.

"I just wanted to make sure you were ready to hear it."

_I would have seen it earlier but I was distracted._

_I was distracted by Arthur._

She studied Eames, trying to imagine her state of mind after Arthur's denial of her feelings: he had introduced her to dream-share but it sounded like Eames had been her next, closest connection to that world. It would make sense that she'd turn to him afterwards but it didn't feel right to her. How could she have made the leap from Arthur to Eames?

He was attractive but so different from Arthur's steady, constant presence. They looked and acted nothing alike. And yet-

_His books, his paintings._

-yet he was solid. He could put down roots- the entire safe house was evidence of that. And despite the unsettling way he changed his emotions, his appearance, in the blink of an eye there was something undeniably stable about him. As if transformation came easily to him because he was unchangeable at his core.

_Or maybe I'm grasping at straws, _Ana thought. _Maybe it was always about Arthur to begin with._

"Hear what?" Ana asked.

"You _know _what," Eames said. He gestured around him and then narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. "You'd do that before. Do you notice how you always push people to tell you what they mean, even though you've already worked it out for yourself? And in such a disarmingly sweet tone. It worked beautifully for you as an extractor."

His words stung but Ana swallowed down her defensiveness. She nodded at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

"Those are mine," she said. "They're too big now but then again I was healthier before, wasn't I? You didn't need to go out and buy me new clothes because I already had them here. But you knew my measurements in Paris. You bought that coat for me. It fit perfectly because you knew my original size and guessed down."

Eames' expression shifted and his shoulders lowered slightly. "It was cold. You had nothing else with you."

Something caught in her throat at the look on his face and she turned away.

"Your books… Not all of them are yours. You favor modern fiction, introspective prose, but even your non-fiction is…"

Ana trailed off as she remembered walking through the library. Eames had a decent assortment of books, carefully curated and placed according to topic and author. He was a collector; at first glance it seemed his tastes were all over the map but she'd had time to look closely at each shelf and flip through many of the titles.

"I'm good at seeing trends and connections. You prefer a specific cadence in the narrative that I…"

She stopped again, feeling once more the way her heart had stopped when she'd come across the small group of books that had bothered her the night before. It was the deviation from the _pattern_ that made what she'd come across jump out. The exception to the order she found in his books. The ones she had pulled out were different, so different that when she found them, they seemed almost offensive in their distinction.

"That you what?"

Ana sighed tiredly.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I kept my books here. Some of them were old textbooks but the marginalia was in my handwriting. It's how I knew for sure. I must have brought them here myself and… Why would I do that, Eames? Why would I keep my clothes here, my books… Why would you keep the food I like, if I didn't live here before?"

_You said I had a sweet tooth. I saw the rest of the groceries you bought last night._

_Why did you keep my things for so long?_

Eames clenched his jaw so tightly that for a moment, Ana was reminded of Arthur.

"Who were you to me?" she asked. "Why do you have my things here?

"Do I really have to say it?" he asked, solemn and almost grim.

"How long were we…?" The words seemed to die on her lips.

_Whatever it was we were._

Ana took a deep, fortifying breath and pushed on. "Was it serious? Will you at least tell me that?"

"It was serious enough for you to leave your things here," Eames said, "but not serious enough for you to stay. You didn't live here permanently, just for a few days at a time but each time, you left a little more of yourself. In the end, when you walked away from this business, you walked away from everything."

"Including you," Ana said.

Eames let out a mirthless chuckle. There was an odd twist to his mouth as he looked down at the space between his feet. "Oh, I was the first thing you discarded. There was nothing here you wanted to keep. These little remnants were the only things I had left. You said not to bother sending them back to you so I didn't."

_You didn't throw them away either._

Ana closed her eyes briefly. Eames had kept her things. He had washed her clothes and hung them with care. Her books had a home in his library, even though his own books were spilling over in piles on the floor.

She opened her eyes. "How did it start?"

Eames looked up at her sharply. "It?"

She gestured between them awkwardly with one hand. "The thing between us. Was it just physical?"

His expression hardened. Ana could see a muscle in his jaw twitch.

"You mean were we just fucking?" he spat out. "Did we travel three thousand miles a few times a month just for a quick shag? Just to be clear, I want to make sure that's what you meant by physical."

It was as if he'd slapped her and Ana mentally reeled back.

"Don't be crude," she snapped back. "I'm not stupid. You wanted me to find out, otherwise you would have hidden everything better. If you know me as much as you say you do, then you'd know that I'd see these things and figure it all out."

And then a thought came to her and she drew in a cold breath.

"Is this what you were getting at the other day?" she asked, feeling almost breathless at the realization. "When you brought up Locke back in Paris. You wanted me primed, _prepared_, to find this out for myself. God, Eames, that's… it's _cruel._ You wanted me to be surrounded by proof so that I couldn't deny any of it, is that it?"

Ana knew Eames wasn't a liar, not really. He was flash and heat, smoke and illusion, playing with reflections to distort the truth. But it was always the truth he presented. Eames was simply the best, and the worst, kind of con; the kind that used the truth as a weapon.

"You always did think the best of me," Eames said sarcastically. "That's something else you seemed to have carried over. You think I planned all of this, somehow got Gideon after us, manipulate you into escaping so that we have to work under a deadline as well, just to get you here? That's a bit too complicated a plan even for me, Ana."

"Then why are we here? We could have gone anywhere else. Another hotel maybe, we could have-"

"Because I thought you'd feel safest here!" Eames exclaimed, cutting her off. "Because this was the closest to home, to a _home_, I could offer. That's all, that's _it_. You always… You liked it here. I thought maybe…"

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, and he began to pace in the small space between the door and the bed. He was angry, that much was clear, and Ana suddenly felt a wave of guilt come over her. He looked like an animal in pain- shoulders high and bunched together, posture stiff and curled in as if to protect the vulnerable parts of his body and Ana realized that he _was_ hurt.

He was too exposed, too vulnerable and so far away from his easy confidence that Ana was afraid for him.

_How many times did you let me see this side of you?_

_Why would you ever allow me in like that?_

"I worked with you after I left… after I stopped working with Arthur," Ana said carefully. Eames glanced at her but continued to pace. "How did that begin? Us working together, without him."

_Because whatever happened between us came after St. Petersburg._

She watched Eames walk back and forth a few times and then he pulled something out of his pocket and rubbed it between his fingertips.

It was round and red and flat like... It was his totem. He played with it as she watched.

"The rumor was you'd dropped out," Eames said. "No one had seen nor heard from you in over a month and Arthur began to work solo again. I knew he'd not tolerate any questions so I came to you directly. You loved dreaming, that much I knew for sure, and I thought that perhaps you'd had enough after a recent spate of trouble."

"Did you know about St. Petersburg?" Ana studied his face closely, looking for any signs that Eames had been aware of her feelings for Arthur.

"I knew your architect was a traitorous bastard. He'd had his head done in by a few rounds," Eames said flippantly. "Arthur had been shot and you'd barely been able to leave the country. But that was just the last straw, Ana. Even before then you were beginning to crack under the pressure of it all. I told him you needed something lighter but Arthur just kept dragging you down into the foulest minds-"

"We had a deal," Ana said. Eames stopped and looked at her. "You got it half right, Arthur did choose our jobs but only if they were to the standard that I held him against. I wouldn't take just any job. It had to be because someone did something really awful."

Eames shook his head. "He still should have vetted better. Arthur could have done much more to protect your mind- he knew bloody well how things in dreams could affect reality. Some things cross over, ideas can… linger in dreams. They can fester and infect your waking thoughts"

"_You felt like you were becoming contaminated."_

"He told me that some of the dreams started to make me look at myself differently," she said. "Did I… Did you notice that too?"

Almost as if against his will, Eames nodded. "I worked two jobs with you before St. Petersburg and you were showing signs of strain. You hid it from everyone well enough but I've been in the business long enough to spot the signs."

"Signs?"

"Odd behavior, your little tells. You weren't sleeping properly and it showed. You tensed up right before you plugged yourself in." Eames looked off to the side and said in a quieter voice, "You stopped smiling as much. You drew away from people.

"So when you stopped showing up at Arthur's side, I knew dream-share wasn't the problem. It was the _kind_ of dream that was the issue. Arthur had dropped you into the minds of serial murderers and pedophiles, people with deep psychosis. It would be enough to chip away at an experienced dreamer- you should never have been exposed to that. Not without significant training or practice."

"So you what?" Ana asked. "Offered me a job stealing corporate secrets? Something light and fun?"

Eames huffed out a small laugh. "Our first job together was entering the mind of a little boy, at the behest of his parents. It wasn't exactly a light matter; he'd witnessed an attack and they needed us to pull the information from him since the boy had gone mute."

Ana considered it for a moment before asking, "Did we help them?"

Eames' face softened slightly. "Yes, Ana. You did quite well that day. Very well."

"But not all jobs were like that though."

His smile faded slightly and he made the chip dance across his knuckles. "Not all, no. Some were more complex than others, perhaps not as interesting as the ones Arthur used to draw but you seemed to enjoy them well enough. Especially since…"

He paused and Ana could see the hesitation in his face before he spoke next.

"You were my point."

Ana blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Think about it, pet," Eames said. She said nothing about the endearment but she noted that it seemed to come easily to him. He had to _think_ about holding it back, instead of the other way around. "It's instinctive to you, finding things out about people, pinpointing their weaknesses. You absorb information like a sponge. And you had connections. I just used that to our advantage. I was the architect for most of our jobs, and of course a forger if need be but for the most part, it was just you and me with expenses paid to a chemist."

Arthur said she wouldn't take any jobs in the states so that meant she was likely overseas with Eames alone, working closely together.

"So was that how it started?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady. "Is that how _we_ started?"

"You sound so surprised. Is it so difficult for you to imagine now, Ana?" Eames said, anger creeping into his tone. She found she couldn't look away from his eyes; his intense, searing gaze.

"We created worlds together," he said. "I built us castles. We walked through the Library of Alexandria and danced in the court of the Sun King. You wanted me to build you a staircase to the moon once and I did. And all of this was just what we did in dreams.

"You became confident without Arthur to lean on for every little detail or direction. You began to live, to _truly_ enjoy the life you were leading and you did that with me. Not with Arthur nor anyone else. _Me_."

He said the last vehemently, with barely controlled passion, and she faltered under the weight of his words. She just wasn't sure of herself anymore- not just of who she had been, but of how she felt now.

She still felt pulled towards Arthur but Eames was an undeniable force. He couldn't be ignored or dismissed, not when he didn't want to be. She might have needed something different after Arthur since his rejection would have cut deep.

Deep inside she must have had some reason to hope for something more with Arthur or else she wouldn't have confessed to anything at all. For the first time, she wondered at how painful it must have felt to tell him she loved him only to be pushed away- her childhood friend, the man she trusted and risked so much for…

But then Eames had come along. How good did that make her feel then, knowing that Eames was there for her? Having him reach out to her and call her back into dreams must have been a comfort, a soothing balm over any wounded feelings she harbored over Arthur.

_Did I use you for comfort?_

Or had she come to care for him as she had for Arthur?

She'd started something with Eames even though she must have known that Arthur loved her- because it was obvious that he did. It shone through in the way he looked at her and his every action and deed made it fact.

_And that's why I took a chance, why I dared to hope._

But with Arthur, it hadn't been enough. And knowing that he loved her and still had turned her away must have felt like a betrayal then.

"Did you love me?" Ana asked in a quiet voice. She took a step forward and stopped, genuinely unsure of what she wanted to hear.

_Did I love you?_

Eames stared down at the poker chip in his hand and ran a thumb over the edge. She saw him draw in a deep breath before looking back up at her.

He said softly, "More than you ever let yourself believe."

"So why did I leave?"

"Why indeed?" he asked. There was a faintly mocking tone in his voice but Ana didn't think it was directed at her, at least not fully so. "Part of it was that you couldn't bear to be away from your brother. Not permanently, at least. Turning your back on your family, the way our lifestyle often demands… it never sat well with you. You lived between worlds and that was difficult."

"_You kept a draft of your resignation letter on hold for months."_

"But you thought you could convince me, didn't you?" Ana stared into his eyes, watching the emotions flit across his face. "You thought you could take me from one life into another. So what happened, Eames? Did you push too hard? Did I get tired of running around the world? Was it a bad job that made me go? Why did I leave you? Why did I walk away from dreaming for good?"

Eames' smile was bitter and sad.

"You should sit down for this, Ana."

###

_Did you know about Stockholm? Of course you did, didn't you? You always kept such good track of everyone._

_On the flight home, all I could think about was you and how you would have never done what Eames did. I wanted so badly to call you, to hear your voice again. What would you have said to me? Maybe 'I told you so'? Would you have come to see me again?_

_Or would you have gone after Eames?_

_I was afraid of that last possibility- because we both know what would have happened if I had come to you- and so I sat alone on the flight home, knowing that I was done, absolutely and completely done, with dreaming._

_I wish I could say Eames' actions came as a surprise. I always knew what he was, who he was, deep down inside. There was always a voice in my head that told me it was only a matter of time._

_You can tell Eames that he, at least, never disappointed me._

###

"Give me some good news," Arthur said tiredly into his phone. He pressed his hand against his closed eyes and leaned back in his chair, tilting far enough backwards so that only the tips of his toes touched the floor.

Ana was gone but he could still feel her soft hands on his face. After he'd told her about St. Petersburg, she'd stared at him with large, pale eyes but she hadn't been surprised. There'd been no anger, no disbelief in her face but Arthur thought she looked _sad_. It shook him down to his core, that expression on her face- it was so close, _too_ close to the way she looked at him in the hospital room.

Her voice then, in the hospital, had been quiet and soft and broken, _"I know you, Arthur."_

She'd been confused at first, as if she couldn't understand what he just said. With dawning realization came the heavy sadness, the darkening of her eyes and sudden slump of her entire body.

"_I know you're lying. Why would you lie to me?"_

"How are you holding up?" Dom's voice was kind and Arthur opened his eyes, feeling a small measure of comfort at the familiar sound.

This was Dom, the _old_ Dom, the man who took him under his wing after Project Somnacin shut down and offered him a place in his world. Arthur had been closer to Mal and her absence in his life still made him ache but Dom reminded him of Matt Tremont. They both were quick and clever and prone to moments of fancy.

And they were both undeniably devoted to their families.

After all, Dom Cobb had been willing to sacrifice the lives of his team in exchange for his children; Matt Tremont had offered his life in place of his sister.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur muttered. "I'll be _fine_. I just want to know what you've come up with."

"Listen, you can't help anyone if you don't-"

"God, please don't finish that sentence." Despite himself, he smiled slightly at Dom's fussing. "Seriously, what'd you find out?"

He heard Dom sigh heavily. "Arthur, it's not… it's not good. Your friend reached out to almost every dream expert in the field. She followed every possible lead available to her and she was very, very committed."

Arthur felt his stomach drop though he wasn't surprised. "Yeah, that's one way to describe her."

Dom went on. "I've read through most of her work. I showed parts of her writing to a former colleague of mine- don't worry, I left out the circumstances and Ana's identity- and Arthur, you have to know. Ana was disturbed. She was probably clinically depressed, that much would have been obvious to you, but she was showing clear signs of PTSD."

Arthur opened his eyes and dropped back down to the floor. He knew Dom was right- Ana had been _stuck,_ for lack of a better word. Her later entries were disjointed pieces, as if she couldn't think about anything else but Matt's death. She had become angrier and more anxious, the nightmares coming with more frequency as time passed.

And while it wasn't explicit, Ana likely hadn't reached out for help. Not in any way towards true recovery-

_But she sought help for revenge._

"I know," Arthur said quietly.

"She was fixated," Dom said. "Whatever she did to herself, she did it with the aim to hurt you specifically. I don't think it's a good idea to go into her mind."

"Duly noted. Now what do you have for me."

Another heavy sigh. "Alright, I get it," Dom said. "I don't think it counts as good news but I think I know what she did and how she did it. Do you remember the Nader-LeDoux trials a few years ago? With the memory erasing pill?"

Arthur did. Karim Nader and Joseph LeDoux were neuroscientists who found that blocking certain chemical reactions, while in the act of recall, could erase specific memories. They'd done years of tests on rats: inducing fear and anxiety in their external environment and then "erasing" the memory with an injection of a chemical that inhibited protein synthesis.

It had been ground-breaking work and the first human trials had taken place only four years prior.

"She didn't write anything about going to see them," Arthur said, frowning deeply. "She only-"

"Ana saw Janus, remember?" Dom said. "He was a consultant in the _second_ wave of the trials, which took place last year. He must have told her about his involvement. I did some digging and it turns out that out of the thirty subjects, four dropped out."

Arthur heard the rustling of paper on the other end. "I was able to track them down and here's the thing- they all said they sent back their samples. It was a requirement of the trials. Out of the four, only three of the samples made it back to Nader and LeDoux. The last sample went missing."

"You think she intercepted it," Arthur said flatly. "Stole it somehow?"

Dom's voice became cautious. "I spoke with some of the people Ana met with. She had access to chemists and labs and research databases that even I had trouble getting into. Do you know what the second wave of the Nader-LeDoux trials were looking into? Memory reconsolidation. They were trying to create a drug that didn't completely erase memories but simply made them inaccessible to the patient until they could be fully dealt with. Full memory erasure was deemed too dangerous and unethical but compartmentalizing memories… Well, that's just another form of therapy, right?"

"So the drug…" Arthur trailed off as he realized the implications of what Dom was saying.

_Ana, what have you done?_

"She's still in there," Dom said. "I was wrong earlier- I don't think she ever intended to forget reality, Arthur. I think she meant to change it. Can you imagine that? How many lives she must have lived by now but knowing consciously that it wasn't real. It would be enough to drive anyone mad."

Arthur heard what Dom was saying without words.

_Mal._

Mal had to forget that limbo wasn't real in order to just _cope._

"I think that she had someone take the original drug and add a sedative to it," Dom continued. "You said she wasn't good at building so she likely only wanted to go down one level- any more than that, the dream would have collapsed and she would have been forced out."

"If she mixed it with Miron's compound then she could only go down one level anyway," Arthur said.

Dom made a soft murmuring noise. "So on the first level, she starts to recall certain memories in order to consolidate them. I think I was right about that part: the drug is triggered by the very act of remembering. It takes the pathways created and recreated by the brain and blocks them until another chemical is introduced that removes those blocks."

Arthur raised his head. "It can be reversed?"

"Not yet," Dom said. "Nader and LeDoux are still working on that part of it but nothing's been perfected yet. The third wave of their trials begins next year, with the same subjects from the second wave."

"Okay so, first level- why would she only want to remember certain memories?"

"Because she didn't have enough time to bring up a lifetime's worth," said Dom. "The mind is good at filling in gaps. She knew that she only needed to bring up pivotal points in her life. Everything in-between could be re-imagined."

Arthur's head spun. Ana had played a dangerous game with herself. What if Miron's formula had reacted badly with the Nader-LeDoux pill? What if she hadn't fully created the first level and it had collapsed- then her memory loss would be permanent.

_And maybe that's a blessing._

It was what she wanted, after all.

"In any case, I think it's safe for you to use a Somnacin mixture with a sedative," Dom was saying. "If she wanted you to go into her mind, she wouldn't have put up any barriers- at least initially. Build one level, something safe she was familiar with and drop straight down. I think she would have placed Gideon's code somewhere on the first level anyway. Whether or not you go beyond that point is up to you."

"You know I have to do this," Arthur said softly. "I owe it to her. My pound of flesh, right?"

"Her brother's death wasn't your fault. Eames was the one who killed him. He was the one who made that choice."

"But I was the one who promised that nothing would happen to Matt." Arthur closed his eyes again and took a deep, albeit shaky breath. "She blames me, Dom. She says it outright, over and over again in her notes. If it hadn't been for me, for my projections…"

"I know what that feels like." Dom's voice was firm. "Of all people, I know how dangerous projections can be."

"She knew that Lewis found her through me," Arthur said. He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. "He wanted blood and he got it. If I hadn't introduced her to dream-share in the first place, if I hadn't-"

"Stop it," Dom cut him off. "It's over and done with. Look at what Ana's guilt, her regrets have turned her into. You have to remember this, Arthur, that if you do decide to go deeper into her mind, she won't be your friend. The person you'll find down there will be nothing like the Ana you knew once. If she hasn't gone insane then she's had years to cultivate that anger, all that hate, however misguided it may be. And it will be all directed at you."

_A troubled mind, a poisoned heart._

"She had an affair with Eames," Arthur said. The words burned as he said them but it was only the truth. "I knew… I knew it was going to happen. When she stopped working with me, I could… I just knew he'd step in and she'd…"

"She barely wrote about him," Dom said. "And when she did... Arthur, I don't think she loved him. At least not as much as she loved you. I think part of the reason she's so angry was because she loved you so much."

Arthur said nothing for a long time.

###

**Please read/review- thanks!**


	19. After Stockholm

**A/N: **So like I told the lovely folks who PM'ed me, I was much sicker than originally thought. After a week in the hospital (seriously- how the hell…?) I was forced back into bed for a long time. I haven't checked anything online until just recently and I'm trying to catch up to work, life and uh… celebrity gossip.

In any case, I haven't forgotten about this story. Be forewarned- this is an angsty flashback. Ana may not seem sympathetic in this one but I'm hoping you fine readers will at least understand why she did what she did. I don't think Eames really gets where she's coming from which is why he seems so genuinely confused here- at least in my imagination.

Anyway, happy reading?

**After Stockholm**

Four weeks after Stockholm, Eames stood in front of the door leading to Ana's home and knocked.

He knew she was home. An hour ago, he had watched her walk back into the townhouse after a long run. She had been carrying grocery bags and Ana didn't eat out if the kitchen was fully stocked.

She wasn't much for cooking though, too lazy and impatient to care about measurements and temperature settings, and he could only imagine what were in the bags she'd had to carry with both hands.

_Frozen dinners. Canned soup. Eggs and milk and bread. Perhaps even a stray vegetable or two._

And of course-

_Enough biscuits to feed a schoolyard full of children._

Ana couldn't help herself. It was one of the many little quirks that Eames had come to learn about her, like her affinity for dresses or the way she could identify and remember different smells as if she were a human bloodhound. He had started keeping a packet of chocolate with him when they traveled together. Even now, even after more than a month apart, he had a bar of Cadbury tucked away in his suit jacket.

He lowered his hand and waited.

_Four weeks, _he thought nervously. _It's been a month._

Enough time, hopefully, for Ana to have calmed down a little but not enough time to stop missing his face or the sound of his voice.

She left Stockholm angry, without a word as to where she was going, and Eames hadn't gone after her right away. He'd had to do some clean up in Stockholm and then stay low for a little while longer. It had taken almost two weeks before he could make his way to the states safely and track her down.

He watched her for days and he couldn't deny the growing sense of panic, seeing her live her life without him. She went to her brother's home, to the gym, to work. Eames had seen her walk beside Klein, eat with him during lunch, and he knew he was witnessing the formation of a _bond_.

She hadn't liked Klein before and Eames had suspected she'd been a little afraid of him but now…

Ana was _trying._

That threat, knowing that she was moving on, was what spurred Eames to finally make his move and go to see her.

He raised his hand to knock again, glancing quickly to the sides to make sure that street was still relatively empty, but the door opened before he could make contact.

Eames blinked, a little surprised, and he couldn't help the smile that formed.

It faded though, as he stared at Ana's face before him.

_Oh, pet._

The day before, he'd seen her laughing with a colleague in a bar after work. Her cheeks had been flushed a healthy pink and she looked impossibly carefree.

However, without any distance between them he saw how pallid and drawn she really was. He saw the shadows underneath her eyes and the way her skin seemed dry and stretched over her fine features. Up close, Ana was subdued and the usual energy that always seemed to surround her was missing.

_Not sleeping well._

_Somnacin withdrawal._

_Most probably having nightmares._

For a long time, they stared at each other and Eames started to grow uncertain about the outcome. He'd been sure, so sure, that she'd still be angry at him and that he'd have to talk quickly, grovel if he had to, to convince her to give him another chance but now, looking into her cool, pale eyes…

"You've been following me," Ana said. She looked him up and down. He could almost hear her thoughts racing. "You've been in the city for some time now, haven't you?"

Eames nodded silently. Ana wouldn't have bothered to acknowledge that she hadn't been aware of his presence before; he was very, very good at blending in and not being seen until he wanted to be. He knew how to hide, even from her, though he didn't doubt that she'd likely had her suspicions.

"You've been staying close by." The corners of her mouth tilted down. "So why now? Why are you here now?"

"I was hoping we could talk," he said honestly. "I didn't get a chance to explain-"

"I know what you did, Eames. There's nothing for you to explain," she cut him off abruptly. She pressed her lips together and her frown grew deeper, making the lines around her mouth more pronounced.

Ana looked so resigned. She could be so stubborn- he knew that, but he also knew that she was easily hurt. That her heart could be so easily bruised because she trusted and loved with everything she had.

Even though she could read a person, could tell their life story in a glance or a crooked trouser cuff, Ana had faith in people. She was always willing to give someone a chance to prove her wrong; even if all she could see were the marks on their souls, even after years under Arthur's influence, she was _hopeful_.

It was this thought, this other little personality quirk of hers, that made Eames hopeful as well.

Because it meant he still had a chance.

"Please, Ana," he said quietly. He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. "You don't know what I have to say. You can tell where I've been and probably what I had for lunch today but not even you can read my mind. Just… let me in?"

Ana's entire body seemed to sag and he felt a small thrill of victory when she stepped back and opened the door wider.

_I'll make things right, _he thought as he walked past her.

_Everything will be alright now._

###

"Have a seat anywhere," Ana said, locking the door behind her.

Eames walked in and looked around curiously. He pushed down an odd twist in his chest. In the six months that they'd been together, sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same air, she hadn't invited him to her home. It had never come up and though Ana had known that Eames disliked the states in general, it would have been nice to have her ask him over.

Her living room was large and the walls were white and bare but the furniture looked comfortable and old. Everything seemed toned down and plain. If it were a painting, it would have been depicted with large, broad strokes and no attention to detail. There were pictures in dark frames propped up amidst the books in her bookcases but that was about the only decoration he could see. A flat screen television was mounted on one wall, across from a large brown couch with a dark blue afghan thrown over it. An armchair stood diagonally from the couch and on her low coffee table was a pile of papers and books, a mug of something with steaming hot liquid inside.

It made sense, Eames thought. Ana was constantly bombarded by particulars and minutiae, sounds and smells and sights. Her home had to be a sanctuary, a safe haven from the madness of the world.

Here, sheltered by the stark walls, Ana could _rest_.

"It's a bit messy." She made her way towards the couch and began to straighten the papers on the table. He noticed that her small, delicate hands trembled slightly as she moved. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

"Perfectly alright," he said with a vague gesture. He sat down on the couch and nodded at her. "And it isn't messy at all. You have a lovely home."

Ana looked up at him with a bemused expression and shrugged. To his dismay, she chose to sit on the armchair away from him.

She sat with her back straight and feet on the floor and stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. Eames felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Like prey under the watchful eye of a predator. Her face was nearly expressionless and her eyes- usually so bright and kind- were dull as she regarded him.

He noted that Ana didn't bother to offer him a drink.

"So talk," Ana said and Eames was taken aback by her tone. "It's what you came here for, isn't it? To _explain_."

"I should have told you. I shouldn't have tried to hide what I was doing," Eames said. He leaned forward and looked into her eyes steadily, despite the fact that he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. "I know how it must have looked."

"It wasn't a matter of how things looked," she said. "You sold us out."

"Not _us_." Eames said it firmly, trying to _will_ her to understand. "It's not what you think. Whatever you think you've sussed out, there's more to it. I would have never-"

"Two million dollars for me, Ravi and Merrill. Tell me that Elizabeth Lidstrom didn't give you a payout of two million dollars to hand over the team."

"I didn't sell us out. Ravi and Merrill were on the line, yes, but not-"

"Over six hundred thousand dollars per life. Is that how much we were worth to you? How much I would have cost?"

Her voice was cold and her eyes seemed to grow paler as she regarded him. Eames pushed down the increasing panic that threatened to bring him to his knees at her feet and stood his ground. She had to understand.

_There was no other option, pet. None at all._

_Please, please understand that._

"Lidstrom would have gone after us all," Eames said carefully. "She was psychotic, you know this. But smart too- she knew that Ravi was the one who set up the job. She knew that it would be easier to go through me than have everyone killed."

"Of course it was easier. She knew you could be bought." Ana smiled slightly but it was a fragile thing, so brittle and bitter. "Because you've done it before and Elizabeth heard about it. You know, Arthur told me about what happened in Prague."

A multitude of expressions flitted across Ana's face and Eames imagined that he saw grief and confusion there, mingled with the loathing. And then it was gone. Her face was a perfect blank slate again.

This wasn't the way he'd wanted the conversation to go. He knew she'd be mad but he'd expected more heat. He thought she'd cry or try to hit him- the incident with Loren had shown him she could be pushed to extremes. But this… this was like coming up against a wall of ice.

The day before the job was set to take place in Stockholm, Ana left. He'd come back to their hotel room and found her things gone with only a note left with the staff for him-

_I know._

Ravi and Merrill had gone too and Eames was left behind to deal with Lidstrom and her fury.

"What I did in Prague has no bearing now. Arthur wasn't involved in that at all," Eames said shortly. Of course he'd known that Arthur had tried to warn her off him and he knew that, regardless of their fractured relationship, Arthur's word was still golden in Ana's eyes.

He'd hoped that the importance she placed on Arthur, or rather the ghost of him that lingered in her mind would come to fade. After six months, Eames was sure, so sure that at the least he'd gained some ground.

Ana had told him that she was considering a move, a change. He didn't push too hard. Ana couldn't be pushed to make any decisions; it wasn't in her nature to react well to coercion. But she could be led to an idea, much as she could identify and follow clues. Ana was all about facts and logic. Eames knew that he had to let her believe that she had come to the only conclusion possible: namely, that he was essential. Moreso than Arthur or anyone else aside from her brother.

But six months wasn't enough time and now… Now he was on the verge of losing it all. Of losing her.

_You need to understand._

"Listen to me, Ana," Eames said in a low voice. "What I did was necessary. Once Ravi brought us in, Lidstrom would have come after any team he pulled together. I found that out too late so I did what needed to be done to save us and make some money. There's no harm in that. Every job runs risks and Ravi and Merrill have been around long enough to take care of themselves."

Ana looked at him incredulously. She drew in a long, deep breath before letting it out slowly. "That's your explanation, Eames? That's it? Us against them and hey, if you make some profit on the side, all the better."

"It's the truth. I just-"

"In Stockholm, you'd started to limp slightly," she said. Her voice was faraway, faint, and her gaze seemed to turn inward. "Not much. I don't think anyone else would have seen but your knees hurt when you're stressed. Muscles contract around blood vessels, restricting the flow and resulting in poor circulation. A tense muscle also uses more energy. You got tired more quickly- did you notice that? People who are tense often take shallow breaths because the breathing mechanisms are restricted."

Ana blinked, seemingly coming back to herself and then something in her face changed.

Eames drew in a sharp breath.

He knew that look. He'd seen it leveled at other people time and time again and he doubted that Ana even knew what it meant. She only looked at people in that way when she was disgusted at them, when there was no hope, no faith left. Murderers and liars, be they clients or subjects or team members- she'd stare them down with the same flinty gaze.

_Judge, jury and executioner- all in one expression._

Ana was looking at him as if she didn't know him at all.

"Love, I-" Eames began but Ana cut him off again.

"When you went to trail her, you actually met with Elizabeth, didn't you? Her favorite scarf was a gift from her husband and there were fibers on the back of your coat from it. You may have noticed, she was a little dramatic. She has this tic of throwing the ends over her shoulder because she thinks it makes her look glamorous but it just got caught on everything. And your shoes… Her favorite café uses imported white chert for their entrance. It's difficult to scrape off completely since the powder is so coarse. But you weren't aware of that, were you?

"You made a copy of the key to the office we were going to use for the job- Elizabeth's men would have attacked us while we were under, when we were at our most vulnerable. You see, you left wax on the key when you took an imprint. I saw the gloves in the waste basket, with wax on the finger tips."

She tilted her head back, baring the smooth, pale column of her neck. Eames had traced over the skin there before; he'd once marveled at how soft it was, at how vulnerable she'd let herself be with him.

"I was going to send you home before the job took place," Eames said. "You were never going to get hurt."

She ignored him and stared up at the ceiling.

"Arthur looks into everyone before a job- especially the team he works with," she said. "I know I wasn't immune to his background checks, not because he didn't trust me but he wanted to be sure I didn't have anyone looking too hard into my absences back here. When you asked me take on research for our jobs, I did what Arthur would have done because he's the best.

"So I know about the Swiss account, Eames. I know that Elizabeth paid you half up front to give her the names of our team. And I know that the other half was due to drop the day of the job, once we were all under."

She huffed an almost laugh and Eames saw that her hands were curled into fists on the arm rests.

"And I know you planned to get rid of me. I tracked down the tickets. One out to London the night before the job and the other immediately after the job. I wonder- did it have anything to do with the Emetine-derivative you had sent to your drop box that Monday? Dose me up, get me sick enough so I'd be out of the way and then follow behind once the dust had cleared? What would you have told me? That it was an accident? That the subject found out somehow and came after us? How would you have explained your escape?"

"You weren't going to get hurt," Eames said again. His voice sounded weak to his ears and he forced himself to speak up. "None of it would have touched you or your brother. You would have gone back to London and I was going to clean up after-"

"I still have the scars!"

She screamed the words and Eames jolted back in shock as she pushed herself up to her feet and stood over him. She shoved the sleeves of her sweater up, showing him her forearms.

"From St. Petersburg. I was sold out, Eames, you know this. _You know this. _Me and Arthur were _sold out_ and that's what you were going to do to Ravi and Merrill." Ana's voice was high and almost hysterical. "Ravi has a son- he's only five and _my God_, Eames, did you even know? Did you even care that you would have left him fatherless?

"And Merrill- it was his last job. He had debts to pay because his wife was sick but she got better- you would have ruined that for them. You would have taken him away from her because of what? Us against them. That's all you have to say- it was us or them. It's bullshit and it's heartless and you were going to do it! Did you honestly think it would have mattered to me that I was safe when they weren't?"

Eames didn't flinch though something inside of him screamed along with her. He looked up at her, pained, and said in soft voice, "Do you honestly think that they mattered at all to me, if you were safe and they weren't?"

Ana's face fell and her arms dropped to her sides, suddenly deflated.

She swayed on her feet and Eames didn't have to think- he got up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest and pressing his face against the crook of her neck. She smelled of soap and shampoo, of things so familiar and so _missed_ that he let out a shaky breath against her skin.

_I was so afraid I wouldn't get to do this again._

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "Forgive me, love, please. Forgive me this."

He felt her breathe and then he realized with dawning horror that she wasn't holding him back. She stood straight and still in his embrace, stiff and immovable.

"Please," he said again. He let his desperation, his fear, seep into his voice hoping that it would help. "_Please_."

"My father tried to teach me chess when I was a child," she said in an odd, halting voice. "I was horrible at it. I could have been better but all I could do was watch his face, his hands, and wonder what he was thinking about at that moment. I'd see the smudges on his shirt and the scratches on his watch and… I couldn't concentrate on the board."

Eames slid his hand up and down her back, trying to make her yield to him but she remained frozen.

"He would tell me, 'Annie, protect your king. You always protect your king.' What he really meant was that I needed to protect myself. I was his little girl and he was so worried about me. He didn't want me to get hurt, ever. I thought he meant I needed to learn how to fight, to take up the offensive but people can hurt you in different ways. And I know now that it's the people I trust most, the people I love most, that can hurt me in the worst ways."

"I won't do it again," Eames said, his mind spinning with thoughts. His chest seemed to constrict and tighten and he knew he was losing but fighting against it. "I swear on my life, on _yours_, that I will never do anything like this again. Just don't go. Don't make me go. I _swear_ it."

"I trusted you," Ana said. He felt her draw back and he made a noise and tightened his grip. "I didn't want to believe even though I knew what I saw was real. It's why it took me so long to act, why I stayed in Stockholm for so long. I wanted to keep trusting you. I want so badly to keep you."

"You _can_," Eames said fiercely. He took a step back and grabbed her shoulders, looking down into her face. "We can work through this. I did a horrible thing, I've done many horrible things, Ana but if you love me, if you love me even half as much as-"

"Do you remember Kefalonia?" she asked suddenly. "I do. I've thought about it a lot actually."

She looked over his shoulder like she no longer saw him before her. He dug his fingers into her shoulders, not enough to cause pain but to try and snap her back into the present. To come back to him.

"We can go back there if you want." Eames felt feverish, lightheaded. "I'll buy the whole bloody island if you want me to. Anywhere you want to go, we'll go now."

"I remember," Ana said almost dreamily, as if she hadn't heard him, "the way the sun felt on my legs when I stretched them out. You touched me then. You traced the scars on my legs and then kissed me. I wanted you to meet my brother. I wanted my brother to meet the man that made me feel less alone. And then we took the Stockholm job."

Slowly, slowly Ana looked back at Eames and he could see her face harden.

She put her hand on his chest. "Ravi and Merrill didn't matter to you because you only saw them as tools. As a means to an end. Boyd saw me and Arthur the same way. I know what it's like to have a price on my life."

"You don't think Arthur would have done the same thing?" Eames said. "You don't think he's done what I have? He's not the paragon of morality, Ana, and neither are you. I did what I had to do and Arthur would have done the same."

"He never would," Ana said and there was a tone of finality in her voice. "And he never has. I know because I checked. Background research, Eames- I'm nothing if not thorough. Arthur has never, ever sold out anyone on his team."

She lowered her hand and looked away.

"I used to think it was so exciting. Dreaming, dream-share, running around the world like we did. I was naïve to think that I wouldn't get caught up in it. I thought that it was the life I was always meant to have, the life I really wanted, but all I was doing was lying to myself. None of it was real."

Her words cut deep and Eames shook his head. "I'm real, Ana."

She smiled faintly. "I'll decide for myself what's real or not. Remember?"

"So what now?" he asked. She shook off his hands and drew back again but this time he let her, feeling utterly powerless to do anything else. He watched as she turned her back on him and walked towards the armchair. "You'll just leave me like this? Just because of one thing, just _one thing_, I did?"

She stopped and turned to face him with her brow wrinkled and her mouth pulled down.

"You don't understand, do you?" she said, tilting her head to the side. "What you did in Stockholm was reprehensible but it just made me realize… I need to go back to my life, my _real_ life, to re-build what I had before. Maybe even make it better. The past three years were a waking dream. Some of it was good, some bad. I'm not going to pretend that I didn't do the things I did, or made choices that affected other people's lives. But it's over now.

"I have to wake up, Eames. To face what I've done before I turn into someone my brother doesn't know anymore. I'd like to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be afraid of what I see. I want the nightmares to go away. It's time for me to wake up now."

All the air was sucked out of the room and Eames struggled to breathe. He put his hand over his chest and shuddered. She was telling him… she was saying…

_It's over._

"My sister-in-law is pregnant again," Ana said. Something in her face seemed to lighten with the revelation. "Twins this time. Just like me and Matty, perhaps. I want a life like that. I want to create something good this time, with someone who's never even heard of shared dreaming. With someone who would never think to lie to me, or see a life as currency. I'm thinking of leaving fieldwork soon- maybe go back to school or teach full time, who knows?"

"And what of me?"

Ana closed her eyes briefly. "You're one of the best, Eames. In a few days, you'll take another job and I'll be a distant memory. Just someone you knew once."

Eames opened his mouth and closed it. He reached into his pocket and touched the poker chip there, hoping against hope that…

_I'm awake._

He ran his hand over his mouth and looked at the door. "London," he forced himself to say the words. "Your things are… our home..."

"Your home, it was always your home," Ana said gently, sounding almost kind. Somehow Eames thought it was worse than hearing her yell at him. "And my things- sell them or throw them out, it doesn't matter. They're just things."

"They're _yours_," Eames said sharply. "I can't."

"Then keep them. But it would be better if you just threw them out," she said. She paused, swallowing before she gestured to the door. "You should go now."

Jerkily, as if he were being led by invisible strings, he walked to the front door. Each step felt heavy and hard and his knees hurt, creaking and cracking like they were made of wood. He unlocked the door and put his hand on the doorknob, turning it as something in his head turned and twisted and sliced.

"Eames?"

He looked over his shoulder at Ana. She stood in the middle of the room. There was no hope in her face for him but he couldn't look away. It was the last he'd see of her, after all.

"Don't come back but be safe. Please," she said softly. "Protect your king."

"I will," Eames said.

He opened the door and walked out.

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	20. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Before you read on, I intend to finish this story- it will just take me a while. Feel free to stick with me or to meander off- no harm, no foul. It just takes me a bit longer to hammer out chapters with everything going on (work, life, etc) which is why I prefer one-shots.

In any case- happy reading! And apologies in advance for the mistakes- I'm uploading this from the office so I'll go back and clean it up later tonight or tomorrow. Just figured I should post this sooner rather than later.

Also, I do quite a bit of foreshadowing in this chapter. I mean, it's kind of heavy handed but I could say that about other things in this story. =P

**Chapter 15**

_It should have been me._

_My brother is dead and it should have been me._

_You understand, don't you, Arthur? You understand why I have to fix this._

###

_Why didn't you stop_

_Eames he_

_Why didn't you do something say something anything everything to make them stop Matty would be alive and I wouldn't have to_

_I wouldn't have to be here anymore. I'm still here. _

_Why am I still here?_

###

"…and this is it," Eames said, guiding her into a bright, sunlit room. His hand felt warm on her back. "Studio is a rather grandiose name for it but it's where I do my work."

Ana stepped inside and then watched him as he moved ahead of her. He wiped his hands on his pants and then gave her a quick smile.

_You betrayed our team._

She was still trying to figure out how she felt about his confession, about Stockholm and what he'd done.

_He'd been willing to let those men die._

But they'd been criminals, Eames said. The chemist had been a drug dealer whose concoctions had killed several people throughout his career and the architect worked as a hired gun for the mob on the side. She had known this, he told her, but she'd chosen to focus on _other_ details. She'd chosen to see Eames as nothing more than a greedy liar. Someone who she couldn't trust anymore.

"_It was us against them, Ana. I just wanted to make sure we got out of there alive."_

Eames was anxious as he spoke, afraid of what her reaction would be and she'd watched his face carefully, looking for any sign that he was lying or hiding something in his re-telling. But every action, every emotion that passed across his face had been genuine.

"_You told me to go. I didn't want to, I never wanted to, but I did what you asked and let you go."_

Except… Eames kept her things. Even after she moved on Eames had kept all the little traces of her that she heartlessly left behind for him to deal with. Either she'd known the depth of his feelings and didn't care, or she hadn't realized it and thought-

_It would have been so easy for him to throw everything out or hide it all away._

-that he'd move on quickly because he wasn't capable of feeling deeply for her. Apparently she'd said as much to his face and it was clear from the way he recited her words that they had cut deep.

When he finished speaking, kneeling at her feet as she sat on the side of her bed, Eames looked down and hung his head. He looked like a man waiting for his punishment to be meted out.

Instead she'd asked to see his studio.

She looked around at the various canvases scattered around the room, stepping carefully around the flotsam and jetsam on the floor. There was a yellow, paint splattered loveseat in the corner and faded, loose pages with half-finished drawings littered every surface. There were dozens of images drawn in pen, charcoal and colored pencils and paintings of varying sizes and shapes were propped up against easels and walls.

"You'd stay here sometimes and watch me work," Eames said behind her. "You'd sit right there on that couch and read a book or jot down thoughts in your little notebook. You used to ask me about my technique, why I held the brush the way I did, what mixtures I used..."

Ana wondered what those days had been like. She imagined lazy afternoons spent basking in the warm sunlight, the smell of paint and turpentine thick in the air. She looked up at the large windows that took up the far wall and saw the worn, discolored latches on the middle frames.

_He opens the windows there to let out the fumes._

And then she narrowed her eyes.

There was dust around the large hinges- not as much as was in the corners of the room but enough to be visible from a distance.

_He hasn't had to open the windows in a while._

Ana shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, not ready to think about what that implied. She had wanted to see his studio to understand him better, to see his art in progress as a way to explore his mind. Now though, surrounded by his work, she felt more overwhelmed than assured.

She walked towards a half hidden canvas in the far corner of the room, intrigued by its size, but something caught her eye and made her pause. Hung up on the wall was a collection of three paintings.

With a jolt, she realized-_ I've seen them before._

She felt drawn towards the paintings, as if something was physically pulling her to them, and the closer she got, the colder she felt.

"Ah, I should have known you'd like those," Eames said. His voice sounded fond but Ana didn't look back at him. All of a sudden, her heart felt as if it were beating too fast and too hard. The images were odd, perhaps even a little unsettling but _familiar_.

And she knew their names.

_The sanctuary._

One was of a house made of vivid, red roses; every surface was covered in flowers. There were no windows and only a black hole where the door should have been. It stood tall and solitary in a field of long, green grass.

_The living obstacle._

The other was of a tree made of glass. Each individual leaf and twisted branch shown clear against a blue, cloudless sky.

_The shadowed throne._

The last was of a silver throne in a dark room. A candle stood against the right front leg, illuminating the scene from the bottom up. Shadows seemed to lurk around edges of the painting and Ana could almost see faces in some of the strokes.

"You asked me to paint those."

Ana caught herself before she jumped back at the sound of his voice and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"I did?"

"Yes, for your brother. Apparently he was working on-"

His words cut off abruptly. Eames stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, looking alarmed and not a little frightened.

"Ana, what's the matter? The blood's gone completely out of your face."

"I asked you to paint these?" Ana said, feeling breathless. "I told you to make these images as they were?"

Eames frowned deeply and nodded. "You wanted the details just right, yes. Your brother was a fan of children's stories. I think he taught on the subject. He was working on a book about fairytales, some sort of analysis of them, and you wanted to surprise him with illustrations for some of the chapters. What of it, pet? What's wrong?"

"I've seen these before," she said in wonder. "These things, they have names, titles... and I know them."

Eames' expression darkened and he glanced at the paintings for a moment before looking back at Ana's face.

"You've seen them before," he repeated. "You mean, you remember them?"

"Maybe," Ana said. "Or maybe I dreamt of them. Seeing them here like this… I feel like… But there's one missing, isn't there? There should be four paintings- the sanctuary, the living obstacle, the shadowed throne and the… the…"

"The citadel," Eames finished for her. His gaze was thoughtful when he spoke next. "You called it the citadel."

He hesitated and then, without taking his gaze from her face, he leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the large canvas she'd originally wanted to see, pulling it out from behind the other paintings slowly so that she saw the picture revealed inch by inch.

When it was fully exposed, Ana felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Something in her mind seemed to _click_ with recognition and for a moment she stood there, stunned, unable to move or speak.

_The citadel._

The painting was waist high and nearly twice as wide. It was a medieval-style castle with tall, sturdy walls made of stone, pointed turrets capped by slashes of red and yellow, and a dark, forbidding looking moat. It looked like the stuff of bedtime stories, a home for a king or queen, with knights in armor and-

_A dungeon._

-rooms with tapestries and grand fireplaces and a banquet hall.

It was beautiful, so perfectly detailed that Eames must have spent hours on it.

But it was unfinished.

As if in a dream, she reached out and touched the empty white spaces left on the canvas. Ana saw herself in her mind's eye, walking down a stone corridor towards a flickering light in the distance. She remembered a room filled with maps, every surface covered with charts and atlases. She remembered a library filled with towers of books that reached all the way to the high ceilings.

_I want to go back._

She blinked rapidly, feeling a wave of longing came over her and she was horrified to find that she was on the verge of tears.

_I want to go home._

When she spoke next, her voice sounded shaky and far too loud in the quiet room.

"Eames, it's not-"

_It's not done, the painting's not done._

And then her knees gave out.

From a distance, she heard him utter a curse and felt his arms wrap around her in a tight, almost painful hold. He pressed her against his chest and she slumped against him gratefully, knowing that she would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't been there.

_I can finish it, I know where the rooms go, I know-_

_It's not done._

She didn't know that she'd said the words out loud until she heard him respond. "I know it's not done yet but it's okay. I can finish if you want me to but you need to sit down now. We're going to sit down right here, pet."

She felt herself being moved, pushed and then pulled, and then the next thing she knew she was sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, staring down at the floor. Eames had propped her up against his side and he was rubbing her back soothingly.

"Feel any better?" he asked. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body seep through into her and she curled in towards him. He was a ready source of comfort and she accepted what he was offering without hesitation.

"It's a real place, Eames," she said. She raised her head to look at him. "I've been there, I swear."

Eames seemed troubled and his hand came up to push her hair away from her face. "Love, they're pictures. They don't exist in reality. Perhaps you're remembering how they came to be- you came up with those images, after all."

"No, they're real. The citadel- it's real," she insisted. She touched the side of her head, at her temple. "I know the layout because I've been in there before."

Eames stared at her for a moment and she could see him struggling with his thoughts. He looked pained, yet there was a hint of something else in his expression. Something almost like _understanding_. She could see flecks of green and gray in his blue eyes and she realized that she had moved even closer to him.

"It's real," she said desperately, "even if it was just a dream. I remember it, Eames. It's the first time I've felt like something belonged to me. Please. Please believe me."

_Please don't take that away from me._

"I believe you, Ana," Eames said. He bit his bottom lip, as if mulling over something and then let out a sigh. "Alright then, you said remember the layout?"

Ana nodded. "There are four main corridors leading to different rooms. I remember where they all are. Looking at your painting- I just know where everything is inside."

"I have an idea," he said after a brief silence. Eames pulled back a little, clearly meaning to stand up, and Ana grabbed his arm reflexively. He froze and looked down at her hand curiously.

Shocked at herself, she let him go, albeit reluctantly. The loss of his warmth was disconcerting and she still felt off-balance and a little frightened. She didn't want him to go but she still opened her mouth to apologize, to explain.

Before she could say anything he took her hand and brought it up to his face, pressing his lips against her fingertips.

"I'm not going anywhere." His expression grew soft as he looked at her. "I just wanted to get a pencil and sketch book."

"Of course," Ana said. She pulled her hand back and began to adjust her bandages, bending her head down so that her hair covered her face. "I just… _Of course_."

She heard him walk away and she surreptitiously looked up at Eames as he moved about the room.

_He said he believed me._

She asked him to take her word as truth and he did without hesitation. Guilt overcame her and she swallowed it down quickly; it would do her no good to dwell over it. Whatever Eames was, whatever he _chose _to be, he had loved her once-

_Might still._

-and that was the truth. She looked around the room once more, spotting the fresh wrappers on the floor and the new tubes of paint on the easels. She had noticed the dried out containers he'd thrown in the trash cans and the set of brushes soaking in a glass jar beside a bar of olive oil soap.

_He's only just now started working in here again._

There might have been more to Stockholm but he hadn't lied to her and she knew that leaving her had affected him. Everything he'd told her was true. Because it was clear he loved working here- his passion was spilt out over cotton and linen and paper for her to see.

Yet he'd stopped.

Eames couldn't fake that, couldn't manufacture the disuse of his supplies or the way most of his work had been shoved carelessly against the walls. There were scratches and slashes of dirt on his faded drawings, as if he'd kicked them aside in a fit. As if they hadn't mattered anymore.

_The least I can do from this point on is have more faith in him._

Eames exclaimed loudly and she turned back towards him. He held up a large pad, grinning at her as he walked back towards the couch.

"I knew it was 'round here," he said, walking back. He opened it and flipped through a few pages, sticking a charcoal pencil behind his ear. "When we first started on those paintings, we drafted a few sketches beforehand. I have the original drawing of the citadel right here."

He turned the pad towards her and she leaned closer to him to see. Ana could feel his gaze on her again but she forced herself to study the drawing.

It was impressive. Eames was talented, that much was obvious, but despite the beauty of the painting she found herself much more moved by the simple, stark black lines on the paper before her. There was something both haunting and menacing about the citadel depicted in lines and blurred shadows. The sense of homesickness rose up uneasily in the pit of her stomach at the sight and she placed her fingertips-

_Where he kissed me._

-on the edge of the page, unwilling to touch the actual drawing for fear she would accidentally alter it in some way.

"Did you come up with the names?" she asked without looking at him. "Or was that from me as well?"

"All you," Eames said. "Each one symbolized some central theme in fairytales. I'm not sure what, really. I was more concerned with making sure you were pleased with the finished product."

She blinked and drew her hand away. "But you didn't finish them. Not completely. The last painting…"

"It didn't seem right to continue," Eames said in a low voice. "When you… when it was over between us, I put it away. There wasn't any point left in finishing."

Ana raised her head to stare at him.

_Did I love you?_

It was beginning to make sense now: it really would have been so easy to fall in love with him after Arthur. Eames with his crooked, smile and his art and his multitude of masks. He had none of Arthur's razor sharp edges but he had the same undercurrent of danger and competence, the sense that he could take control of things if he needed to.

She wished then that she _had_ loved him and that he'd known.

"Eames, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry if I hurt you before."

_I'm sorry I doubted you_.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face and he looked down quickly. Not so quickly though, that he could hide the pain that filled his eyes.

"Nothing to be done for it," he said, sounding almost nonchalant. "I know it was never your intention to hurt me. You did what you felt you had to- I understood that then and I understand now. I never held it against you."

"Regardless."

The sides of his mouth tilted up in an almost smile but he kept his eyes down. "There's nothing to forgive, Ana," he said, "but you're fine."

Ana gestured to the drawing. "Thank you for showing this to me. For giving me back my first real memory."

Eames looked back at her sharply and raised his eyebrow. He said, "I didn't just want to show you the sketch, Ana."

He flipped to a blank page and pulled the pencil from behind his ear and Ana realized what it was he meant for them to do next.

"I want you to tell me what the layout is. Tell me what's on the inside of the citadel."

###

_London was once Londinium was once Lowonidonjon. The city of kings and queens, paupers and peasants. And castles- always with the castles. Matty and his love of fairytales. He never quite grew out of that, always had his head filled with stories. He'd tell his children tales from around the world (they liked the Japanese stories the best) but his first love centered on the originals. You remember- the knights in shining armor, fighting dragons and saving princesses._

_He knew what they really meant. He taught the allegories and symbols. Knew all the theories. But just because you know the secret behind the magic trick doesn't mean you can't enjoy it from the audience._

_He never got to travel. Always meant to though. One day, one day I'll go see the castles, Annie. You'll take me where you've been. I'll see for myself where the stories were made._

_He never did. Never can now._

_Never never never_

_He thought I lived the good life. Oh, he hated you. Hated that I was with you but he loved that I got to see the things he wanted to. He collected stories and I collected places and maybe he thought that made us complete- like two halves of one, complete soul. The storyteller and the story maker. Brother and sister. Hansel and Gretel. The little fish and the lambkin. The Tremont twins._

_He fell in love with Sandra in college. Got married right after school. Went straight to grad school. Got a job doing what he loved. Funny how I turned out to be the aimless twin. The one who never put down roots, never had someone who wanted me to. My brother envied me a little but he would have never, ever given up his life for mine._

_I wanted an adventure._

_I thought maybe you and I_

_Someday maybe we_

_I did live the good life. It was a good life once. But Matty, he lived the fairytale._

###

"Arthur, what do you think? Will it work?" she asked.

Ana stared at his face, noting the way the lines around his mouth deepened and his eyes narrowed a fraction as he studied Eames' sketch of the citadel.

"It stands to reason that it will," Eames said, from across the table. He leaned forward in his chair and ran his thumb against the edge of his poker chip. "It's clearly a place Ana remembers and one that she feels safe in. I can add a few tweaks here and there but you couldn't ask for a more perfect layout for the first level."

Arthur let out a breath and threw the pad carelessly onto the table, looking frustrated. He looked up at Ana for a moment and then at Eames.

"Yeah, it's perfect," he said, "a little too damn perfect, don't you think?"

Ana reached out and drew the pad back towards her. She smoothed out the corners and stared at the layout, not liking the way Arthur just tossed it aside, uncaring of how it landed.

They were sitting in the dining room she'd come across on her first night there. Arthur told them about his conversation with Cobb and it was clear, to Ana at least, that he was holding something back.

_He'd probably tell Eames everything if I wasn't here, _she thought, feeling a little resentful.

His proposed plan was fairly straightforward as far as she could understand it. Though the terms were still strange, still alien, they would enter into a shared dream with Ana as the subject and Eames as the dreamer. They decided that tomorrow mid-morning was when it would happen and Yusuf was due to arrive from Paris to act as their lookout.

Since Eames was their architect, it made sense to make the first level his to own. Arthur would go down into-

_Limbo_

_-_the deepest part of Ana's subconscious with her to try and reconcile her waking mind with her dreaming mind. However, they couldn't spend too much time there- the problem with Limbo wasn't getting out; it was _remembering_ that you were in Limbo that was the issue.

Arthur had looked at her intently as he described that part, as if willing her to change her mind about going under. It was dangerous, Arthur had said, she could wake up worse off but Ana couldn't imagine living out the rest of her life without her past.

"_Imagine waking up and having two different personalities," he'd told her, "Imagine not being able to remember anything from moment to moment. That's what could happen and that's what you did to yourself."_

Eames hadn't taken kindly to the way Arthur was trying to scare her off and they'd almost descended into an ugly argument when Ana showed Arthur the drawing Eames had made for her. He thought it would make a good structure for the first level but it was obvious that Arthur didn't agree.

"I admit," Eames said now, "it's a bit worrisome-"

Arthur waved his hand at Eames dismissively. "Ana _allowed_ herself the memory of this place. She wants us to use it for the first level. She was careful about this whole thing so she wouldn't let anything slip through to the surface unless it was intentional. Dom thinks we only need one level, as long as the Somnacin we use has a sedative strong enough to go deep. She wants us to follow her down, that much is clear but she's not going to make it easy. I don't want to go fucking around in a goddamn medieval castle if I can help it."

Arthur's expression was sharp and fierce as he spoke and Ana looked back down at the pad, feeling her stomach drop. She carefully pressed her fingertips against the edges of the page to flatten them and somehow the action made her feel better.

"This place holds meaning for her," Eames said firmly. "It's a tie back to her brother and it will help anchor her and settle her projections. You may be afraid of it but Ana isn't and that's what matters. Would you rather I build one of your sterile little puzzles? We could run around in an office building on a never ending staircase like rats, if you want. But if she doesn't feel safe then Gideon's code will be locked up far more tightly than if we go with the familiar."

"Eames, it's likely a trap," Arthur said. "Besides, if she does want us to use the citadel for the first level, she could easily warp what you build into her own design. She-"

"Even if that happens, I'll be there, won't I?" Ana cut in. "If I'm there, won't I be able to control that level too?"

Arthur turned to her with a frown. She'd remained quiet for the most part, letting the men lead the discussion but now she felt the need to speak up.

_And to remind Arthur that I'm still in the room._

"Not even you know what could be down there," Arthur said patiently. "And I think it would be best to hide the build-outs from you; that way, me and Eames have a little bit more of an advantage and we need every one we can get."

Arthur was only being logical but she still felt disappointed. She'd wanted to see the citadel, to walk through its halls and compare what she saw with what she _remembered_.

She looked back down at the drawing and shrugged. "I understand," she said. "And you're right. We should try to be as safe as possible. It's just… it would have been nice to see it, especially since I created it for my brother. But that's an aside. What's important is that we follow you. You know what's best, right?"

There was silence and Ana raised her eyes to find Arthur looking stricken.

"Yes, Arthur, let's follow you because your plans always run perfectly," Eames said sarcastically. "Especially since it has Cobb's blessing, because we should all trust that lunatic, shouldn't we? Particularly about things like our mental safety and _Limbo_."

Arthur blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "He's the only one who's gotten out of Limbo-"

"Right, because of the three people who have gone down there, Cobb's the least damaged?" Eames said, tilting his head to the side. "Ariadne-"

"Dom's changed and you know it," Arthur snapped. "Don't make this out to be an argument against him. And Ariadne was down there for a short period- we need his expertise on-"

"Yet even Cobb thinks we should create a safe space for Ana and you've just shot down the one familiar place she wants to be." Eames leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't have to share the layout with Ana- I agree with you on that point, but I think we should stick to the citadel as our main environment."

Again, Arthur was silent. Guilt was clear on his face and Ana realized that Eames had turned everything around on Arthur, using his own words against him. It made her feel uncertain. Was Eames doing this for her or because he truly thought that his plan was best? She didn't think he'd simply cater to her whims; if it was a bad idea, Ana trusted Eames to make the right decision.

But going against Arthur seemed wrong somehow.

Ana stood up suddenly and both men looked up at her, surprised. She took Eames' pad and held it against her chest protectively.

"I don't know what to do," she said, "but I don't want this to become about what I want. So just… just plan it out the best way you can in the short time we have left. I'm clearly not going to be of any help right now anyway. I trust you- _both_ of you."

Without waiting for a response, Ana hurried to the doorway and headed back to the guestroom. Though it was only mid-afternoon, she felt drained and needed to be alone for awhile; watching Eames and Arthur argue made her feel frustrated knowing that there was so much more going on over her head, so much more they weren't saying.

Feeling relief as she closed the bedroom door behind her, Ana kicked off her shoes and fell back on the bed with the sketch pad still clutched in her hand. She stared up at the ceiling for a bit, listening to the sounds of the house- the wind outside, a ticking clock at the end of the hall… but no footsteps towards her room.

_Good_, she thought._ I hope they're getting things done now._

Her presence had been a distraction. Ana was nervous enough about what they were planning to do without having to witness Eames and Arthur bicker. She heard a distant, rhythmic sound and suspected that Eames had begun to pace back in the dining room.

She turned to her side and flipped through the sketch book until she got to the original drawing of the citadel. Though at first it had comforted her, looking at it now in the silence of her room made her feel a little lonely. Without Eames pressed against her side and away from the warmth and sunlight in his studio, her initial excitement rang hollow.

_A lonely home._

_All of those empty rooms…_

Ana's eyes grew heavy but she continued to stare at the picture. The comforter beneath her cheek was soft and smelled of fresh laundry and vanilla. A feminine scent, so unlike Eames' or Arthur's own.

_The dungeon… the throne room…_

Without really being conscious of it, she slowly set the pad down and her eyes began to close. The sound of Eames' pacing was hypnotic and relaxing.

_It's there._

…_it's waiting for us..._

Ana fell asleep.

**###**

**Thanks for reading/reviewing!**


	21. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"So based on what Cobb's found, we have to proceed as if we're dealing with two subjects," Eames said. "Ana now and Ana then."

Arthur nodded as he wrote the words _two minds/split consciousness_ on the large easel pad before him. After a moment, he added _dual personalities – two levels. _

Turning around to face Eames, Arthur said, "If Ana, the consciousness that we've been interacting with over the past few days, is our subject on the first level it's unlikely her militarization will be as effective. We should still be prepared and stay low but it takes a lot of effort to maintain that level of discipline, especially if she's using most of her energy to keep her memories focused in one projection."

"That projection is a part of Ana," Eames said. "To a certain extent, it's more of Ana than what we're dealing with in reality. And if she's dropped down to Limbo, she may not have control over what happens a level above. Her defenses will be down and she wants us there anyway."

He stretched out on the yellow couch and looked at the easel speculatively.

"Yusuf said the sedative he's cooked up for our little adventure is the strongest one he's made yet. It's based on the same foundation as the mixture Ana took originally. One level is all we need."

"One level is all we get," Arthur corrected. Ana's subconscious wouldn't be able to support anything more. She was containing large amounts of information at different levels; her mind could only take so much before it collapsed in on itself.

"How exactly do you propose getting down to Limbo if-" Eames' head snapped up in mid-sentence and he looked at Arthur incredulously. "I see. Taking the quickest way down then, hm?"

Arthur looked back at him silently.

Ana's hasty departure had forced them to swallow down their animosity and _focus_. They had to have the simplest, smartest plan possible and considering the compressed timeline they were on, they didn't have much time to get truly creative. As bright and as sharp as they were- and Arthur wasn't deluded in thinking they weren't both the best in what they did- there was too much at stake for stupid risks.

_But the smart risks, _Arthur thought, _we can take._

They'd moved to Eames' studio after a quick check on Ana. She'd fallen asleep and even if it was past lunch, they'd decided to let her sleep. She'd been clutching the sketch book so tightly in sleep that Eames had let it be.

"Tell me you'll at least warn her this time," Eames said. Arthur heard the implied threat in his voice. "Not only will this be her first dream, at least as far as she knows, the last thing she should have to witness is an unexpected suicide."

"Of course I will," Arthur snapped. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, pressing his knuckles against his eyelids briefly. When he opened them again, he tried to tell himself he felt calmer.

_For Ana's sake. This is all for her sake._

"I'll tell her what she needs to know," he said in a steadier voice.

Eames snorted. "And what exactly is it you think she needs to know? Because I think she needs to know pretty much everything. She needs to know that she may need to fight herself, literally in her own mind. She needs to know that she might be the target, not just us, of her own projections. Even if her resistance is down, her projections may not even recognize her."

"They will," Arthur said. And then he looked hard at Eames. "Have _you_ told her everything yet, Eames? Does she know how her brother died?"

Eames' expression grew dark. Arthur smiled grimly when he didn't answer.

"Does she know," Arthur said in a low voice, "that you told Lewis to choose Matthew? Have you told her how she begged for his life or how she begged to die after she watched his head blown open?"

Eames' face looked as if it were carved from stone. "I _will_ tell her all of that and more," he said. "I _will not _hide anything I've done from her."

"Before or after she falls in love with you?" Arthur asked. "This version of her anyway. That's what you want, isn't it? For her to love you so that her forgiveness is a given and you can live happily ever after. Neat trick, right?"

Something in the other man's expression shifted and he leaned back to regard Arthur with a calculating look. Eames' pose was deceptively lax. He had one arm slung over the back of the loveseat he sat on and his legs were stretched out over the cushions as if in repose. But there was a cunning brightness in his eyes that Arthur was familiar with.

"Do you really want to talk about this now, Arthur? Very well," Eames said lightly. "I know I didn't come first. I wasn't her first choice. She wanted you all along. It's why she followed after you for much longer than she should have- no sense of self-preservation, that one. Not when it came to her perfect Arthur, who could do no wrong."

Arthur drew in a cold breath. "Enough."

"But you made a mistake," Eames continued, ignoring him. "She offered you herself and you turned her away because you were perfect, self-sacrificing Arthur. You didn't expect her to break though. Thought she'd stay patient and meek and mild because she always had for you before. But then she shut you out. You must have realized how hurt she was at that point. How much _you_ hurt her."

"And you took advantage of that," Arthur said.

"Bloody straight I did. Unlike most, I can learn from the mistakes of others."

Arthur swallowed down his retort and turned back to the easel.

_Focus._

Eames was right but it didn't make him_ in_ the right.

"On the first level, create a keep within the citadel," Arthur said briskly. The keep in a castle was the safest, strongest area. It wouldn't do to simply tell Ana where to keep Gideon's code but her mind would seek it out automatically as a good hiding place. It was clear from Eames' sketch that Ana had some familiarity with basic castle structure. "Stay close to Ana's layout but not too close- we need to be able to double back in some areas in case her projections get testy."

Arthur heard a shuffle and then the soft sounds of a pencil against paper. While most architects liked to make scales of their levels, Eames liked to draw. His creations were often too strange, too defiant of things like gravity or physics to be confined to models.

"We'll use the keep to go under," Arthur went on. "It should be strong enough to hold off even a large crowd."

"Oh, I think I'll be able to handle myself just fine," Eames said. "But there's something we haven't yet talked about- how do you propose re-integrating Ana's memories into her conscious, surface personality? She has to do it willingly, after all. The subconscious personality, the Ana who planned all of this in the first place, won't be very accommodating, I'm afraid."

He had a point; Arthur didn't know what they would find in the deepest, darkest part of Ana's subconscious mind. Dom told him that every mind was different; what he had experienced in his version of Limbo wouldn't be the same as Ana's. And she'd been under for far longer than he had- alone and aware she was dreaming. Knowing that nothing around her was real.

"_It would be enough to drive anyone mad."_

Arthur had to wonder how long she'd been waiting for them to come after her.

"She has to end it- not me," Arthur said slowly. He thought about what Dom had told him, thought about Ana's notes. He remembered Mal's shade, the cold, blank stare of her face in Dom's dream. He fought down a shiver, not wanting to imagine what Ana had become. "Neither personality can exist in the same space. If her memories are contained in one projection-"

"That projection has to die in order for the memories to be released," Eames finished for him. He narrowed his eyes. "So change of plans then. Ana stays with me on the first level because she's the dominant consciousness in reality. If you bring her down to Limbo..."

Eames trailed off and rubbed his mouth. He looked anxious and Arthur knew what he didn't want to say.

To bring both personalities, both different sets of consciousness into one plane of dreaming would practically force Ana's mind to split in half, no question about it. Arthur had warned about it as a possibility but now he was realizing that forcing them together, to exist in one space, would guarantee permanent damage.

_Like looking into a mirror and seeing nothing…_

…_because your reflection's become just as real as you are._

And doing it for Ana, killing that side of her without her consent, would likely have the same effect.

_We would be setting her mind at war with itself. _

"You'll be down there alone." Eames shook his head. "With no kick back, you'll have to keep your wits about you. I've never questioned your competency in dreams, but if the timer runs out and you're still down there… I'm not letting Ana pull you out and don't think for a moment that I would."

Arthur wanted to laugh. They might have been working together now but Eames was always his own first priority.

"Call Dom if I don't come back in time," Arthur said. "He'll find someone to help."

Dom had changed but Arthur was under no illusion that he would personally help him. He had his children back, he had his freedom back… Arthur was maybe on his short list of priorities but his children would be fatherless if Dom left again.

Arthur couldn't help but think- _Ana would have come._

The _old_ Ana, before Matt's death, would have come. She would have figured out a way to reach him.

Arthur stared at the easel, feeling something close to hopelessness well up inside of him.

"She must be so fractured by now," he said softly. "Even if I can get her to go along with me, I may only be able to bring back some memories- the rest might be so warped, so changed that they won't even make sense in the context of reality. We should consider the alternative, Eames. Maybe-"

"Think about what you're saying," Eames cut him off. "Leaving her down there would be akin to murder. You'd be _killing_ her."

"I didn't say I wouldn't try," Arthur said sharply. While he didn't agree that integration was the best course, he was committed to helping Ana regain what she could. But still… "I'm asking the question- what if I go down there and find that she's happy? Have you considered that perhaps whatever she's built in Limbo is better for her than reality?"

"Reality is always better. Ana wouldn't have shied away from dealing with reality- not if she were in her right mind."

"But she wasn't, Eames. And she may never be again. If I can't convince her to come back, who are we to say she's wrong? She deserves some peace."

"She deserves to be whole." Eames put his pad aside and stood up, playing with his poker chip as he began to walk back and forth. "And why is this even up for discussion anymore? Ana wants us to go down there, she wants _you_ to find her down there. All we should worry about is making it work."

Arthur stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disgust and turning away.

_If I can't get Ana to come back…_

_If I don't make it back… _

Arthur ended that train of thought before it could finish.

**###**

"Hey, I didn't think you'd be awake."

Ana looked up at Arthur who was leaning on the doorway to her bedroom. She'd heard voices coming from the studio when she'd woken up but she decided to stay in her room and flip through the rest of Eames' drawings.

"Just for about an hour," Ana said, glancing at the faint sunlight behind the curtains. "I didn't want to bother either of you."

"You wouldn't have," Arthur said. He hesitated and then straightened, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He had a look of uncertainty on his face. "Can I come in?"

Ana nodded. She uncrossed her legs, stretching them out in front of her, and shifted to the side of the bed to make room; there were smudges on the tips of his fingers and she could smell the faintest hint of marker ink as he sat down beside her.

"Eames wasn't really a note taker, was he?" Ana said when it seemed Arthur had relaxed. His shirt was slightly wrinkled and his hair was loose, but otherwise he was perfectly turned out. Looking at him made her feel awkward in comparison, especially considering she hadn't bothered to change or brush her hair since she'd woken up.

Arthur frowned and shrugged. "I don't think so," he said. "No actually, Eames wasn't much of a note taker. Why do you ask?"

Ana passed Arthur the sketch book. "His drawings. They're in bits and pieces. Occasionally he can focus on one thing enough to take up an entire page but most of them are random, drawn at different times. He's a doodler."

To her surprise, Arthur chuckled. "Eames the doodler," he said and Ana grinned. "He doodles."

"Poor choice of words," Ana said. She leaned into Arthur slightly, nodding down at the pad. "He's talented though. He gets the mood right, I think."

Arthur made a noise of assent and flipped through the pages. She knew he wouldn't miss the fact that she featured in many of Eames' drawings. A side profile of her face, her smile, her eyes… Arthur lingered over one particularly intimate sketch of her sitting stretched out on a deck chair, eyes closed in sleep.

"Yeah, he's good," Arthur said hoarsely. He put the pad on the space in front of him. "Did you sleep okay?"

Ana looked at his face and knew he was asking more than his words implied. His eyes were searching, curious and wary.

"Just fine," she said.

He didn't seem to believe her.

"Yesterday you said…" Arthur trailed off and then gestured vaguely with his hand. "You don't remember dreaming, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Arthur looked torn but he pushed on. "Is there anything you can remember? Aside from Eames' paintings?"

"No. I'm sorry. And it's not really like I _remember_ those paintings but I recognized them. They meant something to me and I knew their names but the meaning behind them... that's out of my reach." They sat in silence for a moment before Ana tapped the drawing with a finger.

"That's not really me, is it?"

Arthur looked at her, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not her," Ana said. The idea had been weighing on her mind heavily since she'd left them in the dining room. "The woman that you and Eames are trying to save. I look like her, I might move or talk like her but it's not me you're trying to help."

"You're wrong," Arthur said. He sat up but didn't move away. "Just because you can't remember things doesn't mean the core of you has changed."

"But a person is defined by their experiences," Ana said. "If I can't remember my past, I don't have one. And that begs the question- who am I really? If this doesn't work I'll just be taking up space that someone else used to occupy."

And that was the conclusion she'd come to as she studied Eames' work. There was such care and attention to detail in his renderings of her it made her feel hollow inside- jealous even. Because Eames had been in love with someone else-

_And so had Arthur._

- someone whose face she wore. And while he seemed perfectly willing to accept her as she was now, Ana was afraid that one day she'd do the wrong thing, say the wrong words in the wrong way, and they would all realize that _she_ didn't belong.

Arthur looked at her as if he could read her mind. He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. "If it doesn't work, I won't leave you behind just because you can't remember the color of your favorite dress when you were twelve- those are just details. And you're still you, at the very core. What matters, what shows that you are still Ana Tremont, is how you've carried yourself from the moment you opened your eyes."

"Are we just going to gloss over Peter then?" Ana asked, wryly.

Arthur's mouth quirked in a slight smile. "I should have expected that. When you really wanted to, you could run circles around us. That hasn't changed either."

Ana stayed quiet for a moment and looked down. Arthur's hand was bigger than hers; she liked the feel of it over her skin.

"I know we talk about you as if you are two people and I'm sorry for that. Don't compare yourself to who you think you should be, alright? If you never go back to being that person again, you'll still be Ana."

She mulled over his words then raised her head to look at him.

"I left Peter a note telling him I didn't know who I was," she said, "and I wrote it on the back of the concierge's business card from my hotel. I slipped it into his desk calendar, a week from yesterday. He's a little absentminded- sometimes he forgets to flip the pages over. There were old coffee stains on the last page he had up."

She felt Arthur stiffen and his hand tightened reflexively.

"But I still want to try tomorrow," she said quickly. "Don't call things off. Please, Arthur. I don't want to get you or Eames in trouble but I want to go through with everything."

He let a heavy sigh and nodded.

"I won't call it off," said Arthur. "Thank you. I can get someone to get into his office tomorrow and take it back."

"The school's locked up tight. You must have seen the cameras."

"Oh, I think I can find my way around those," he said. The corners of his mouth tilted up again and there was a mischievous look in his eyes. Ana raised an eyebrow and turned his hand over so that his palm was turned toward her.

"You're the note taker," Ana said, rubbing her thumb over his calluses. "But you're better with computers."

"I like machines," Arthur said and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"So the PASIV is yours." It was a statement rather than a question. "You take it care of it. Did you build it or…"

"I took it," Arthur said frankly. "I walked away with it when I left the military. Figured it was adequate compensation after exemplary service. Of course, they didn't think so- it's why I don't like going back to the states if I can help it."

"I bet," Ana said. She sat up and looked into his face, feeling suddenly nervous. "Did you know about me and Eames? That we were together?"

The light seemed to fade from Arthur's eyes and he nodded. "I'd heard. After St. Petersburg, you stopped working with me and started running point for him. It wasn't a surprise. Eames had always been very clear about he wanted. He saw me as an obstacle."

Ana blushed and looked away.

"But we didn't last," she said. Eames hadn't been a bad choice. Perhaps he may have been the _right_ choice for her but the pull she felt towards Arthur was unmistakable. "Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you had… I mean, if we…"

"All the time," Arthur said. His voice was a near whisper but the regret was unmistakable.

Ana wondered how he'd felt back then, knowing that she was with Eames and wanting things to be different. He probably continued on stoically, not letting an iota of how he felt show on the outside.

She hoped that she'd been able to give Eames what he wanted. Ana hoped she hadn't looked at Eames and wished he were someone else. It simply wasn't fair to him but Arthur was the first face she'd seen when she woke up and she was glad for it.

Ana turned back to him, determined. "If we don't succeed tomorrow I want you to know that I don't blame you one bit. And I'd like to get to know you again. It might not be the same as before, but I want to be your friend again, if it's possible."

Arthur's face was solemn. "It's more than possible," he said. "And if it does work, if you do get everything back, I'll understand if you decide you don't want that anymore."

"What are you so afraid of?" Ana asked, feeling frustrated. "As far as I can tell, you've tried everything in your power to keep me safe. You can't control the world or the people in it, Arthur. Mistakes are inevitable but you-"

"I was the reason Matt died," he said. "It was my fault."

Ana froze. She stared at him, unsure of how to react.

"He died because of me."

**###**

**Thanks for reading/reviewing!**


	22. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"_On the first level, create a keep within the citadel."_

Eames stared down at the rough outline of the structure he'd created and tapped his pencil on the edge of the pad.

He wondered if Arthur knew what he'd really been asking for.

The word dungeon came from the root _donjon_ in Old French and in its ancient usage meant the main tower of a castle.

_Or a keep,_ Eames thought darkly.

Arthur wanted a defensible area of the citadel that could keep them sheltered until he came back from Limbo. He'd had enough experience in dream-share to go through nearly every conceivable scenario that could be imagined; castles and fortresses were just elaborate ways to put together four walls and a ceiling, after all.

But Eames knew the power of words, of the way meaning could be twisted by an innocent slip of the tongue. He knew the way the mind could play tricks on itself and whoever else it might contain.

Though Arthur was fluent, Eames wondered if he knew that in French _donjon_ still referred to a keep, while _oubliette_ was the correct translation of the word dungeon.

_And_ _oubliette literally means "forgotten place."_

Eames hummed to himself absentmindedly and began to scratch out a section of wall.

A keep and a dungeon were essentially the same thing. Security and savagery, confinement and imprisonment; the same idea really, just separated by a thin line of thought.

"_This is where the dungeon is, Eames."_

In the center of the citadel, before the stairs that wound up within a great tower, Eames drew a door that led downward.

"_I don't think I've been inside."_

He remembered Ana's soft voice, telling him where each passage of the citadel led and where rooms and hidden alcoves lay. He added twists and false entrances, doors and windows that Ana wouldn't recognize because Arthur was right- they couldn't stay too close to her original design.

But the dungeon had to stay, it had to be right where Ana knew it should be. Because the dungeon was the keep was the safe place where Ana would hide all her darkest, most treasured secrets. Beyond Gideon's code phrase, beyond the code to her phone… There was something behind the door that Ana was afraid of. He didn't think she even knew what it was but in his heart of hearts Eames knew Ana had been inside.

_It was in her eyes,_ _all there in her eyes._

Her eyes had gone vacant when she mentioned the dungeon. As if for a brief moment in time Ana simply hadn't been there with him. Her voice became faint and robotic, like a doll delivering programmed phrases to a child, but her eyes had chilled him.

He'd seen the expression before in shell-shocked soldiers or traumatized civilians who were forced to recite the worst moments of their lives but could only do so from a mental distance. For a split second, Ana was out of Eames' reach even though she was sitting right next to him.

Arthur may have to deal with Limbo, Eames thought, but he was the one who was going to be surrounded by the memories that Ana had left behind on purpose.

_Because he didn't consider the question- if she only took some of her memories, what did she do with the rest?_

He was sure, down to the marrow in his bones, that her worst memory was hidden somewhere in the dungeon. And if it came down to it, if Arthur wasn't back from Limbo and Eames had to pull them out of the dream before the timer went off… then there was no question about it.

He'd leave Arthur behind and take Ana with him.

**###**

"There was a man named Rishi Lewis," Arthur began, "who hired me as a part of a team to take on multiple extractions at once. He was the CEO of a risk analyst firm that was under suspicion of a number of crimes- mostly white collar stuff like insider trading, tampering with volatility levels, that kind of thing."

"And he wanted to know if it was true?" Ana asked.

Arthur made an odd face and shook his head. "No, Ana. He was the one responsible for those things. He was under investigation and wanted to track down who on the board of directors was leaking information."

"Oh," she said, feeling naïve. "Go on."

"Multiple extractions are pretty rare. They're used when we need the subjects to interact at some point- sort of like observing animals in their natural habitat. They're difficult to pull off since the more subjects there are, the bigger the team. There were three board members Lewis was particularly worried about and that meant we needed three extractors in different locations within the dream.

"I was one of the extractors, Eames was another and we hired one other person to play the third. Plus the architect and Lewis, who insisted in joining in- it was a large group. I never should have allowed Lewis to go under with us. That was my second mistake."

"What was your first?" Ana asked, confused.

"Taking the job in the first place," Arthur said, without hesitating. "Lewis was highly paranoid. He didn't have a history of mental problems- at least any that I thought would cause us problems in the dream, but he was on the verge of losing his shit. I should have backed out when I realized the extent of his paranoia but by then we were in it all too deep and no one wanted to quit the payout. Seven figures is a hard number to walk away from"

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "It took us about four months, give or take, to set everything up. We went under and at first, everything went smoothly. We split up, followed our targets and pulled what we could from them. My part of the job was supposed to take place in a bank. I had to find my target and run my play, just as practiced."

Ana studied his face, seeing the way he seemed to draw into himself. "Something went wrong with your target."

Arthur nodded slowly.

"Two versions of the target appeared near my location," he said. "The real target and a projection. Someone had brought it in; it was either Lewis' or one of the other subjects' but I had to make a call quickly since we had limited time."

_And you made the wrong choice, didn't you?_

He raised his head and looked off into the distance. "So I chose one and made the play. Got him to go into the bank we created and try to access a safe deposit box using a ten digit passcode. It's an old trick and it's worked well but the particular combination reminded me of something I found during my initial research. In general, it isn't the passcode that we really care about. It's just a vehicle, a way to access the information we really want."

"So you have the subject focus on that instead of hiding whatever it is they want to hide," Ana concluded.

"Exactly," Arthur said. "If we do our job right, the subject begins to prioritize gaining access over limiting it."

"Okay," Ana said. She tilted her head to the side. "But in this case, the subject used a number that actually meant something in the real world. And it wasn't phone number."

Arthur eyed her curiously.

"No, it wasn't," he said. "How did you know?"

"I guessed," she said with a shrug. Arthur looked at her pointedly and she rolled her eyes.

"You said 'digits' which tells me that the code was in numbers," she said. "But who memorizes phone numbers anymore? Analysts could but they're number crunchers so they would only memorize important data- everything else can be recorded. You can easily program a phone with a number, even code it, and then forget about it so there's no need to clutter up your memory like that. I think it was an account number or… Or maybe a file number."

"Why not coordinates? Or an actual passcode for something else?"

"Most coordinate systems use two by two by two pairings or three by three by three," Ana said without having to think about it. "And high security passcodes require characters- alphanumeric and caps."

Arthur smiled slightly, with a hint of admiration and pride in his gaze. It slowly faded as he went on.

"It was an account number. I recognized the first five numbers from some of Lewis' billing records and it made me wonder why someone would remember that account specifically. Once we were topside, I did more digging and found out that the account was just the first in a trail of bread crumbs leading up to something more than white collar crime."

"What was it?"

"Lewis was financing weapons deals on a global scale," Arthur said. "See, the government was getting information only someone within the company could access. Since my target knew of the account, the probability was high he was the mole. No one else on the team, none of the other subjects, had information that directly tied them to Lewis' activities."

"But your target wasn't the mole, was it? Because you followed the projection, not the actual subject."

Paler than she'd ever seen him, Arthur nodded. "I don't know if he really was the leak but the projection _was_ Lewis'. He already believed my target was the traitor and the information I gave him just confirmed his suspicions."

Arthur pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before speaking.

"He had him killed."

Ana blinked and then something inside her mind snapped together in place like puzzle pieces. She gasped, covering her mouth in surprise.

"Oh, Arthur. He was a family member, someone Lewis cared about. Was it his brother?"

"His older brother." He swallowed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. "Lewis' family was… they were fucked up. Lewis was prepared to hear his brother was the traitor but he also looked up to him as a kid, so the thought of his older brother betraying him drove Lewis mad. He brought in a projection that was indistinguishable from the real person. I… I couldn't tell the difference. Lewis' projection acted the way he expected his brother to act."

"He had his brother killed," Ana said, horrified. "Just for that. That kind of reaction… it's insane."

"Lewis was on the edge," said Arthur. "The CIA was building a solid case against him. The other two subjects we extracted from were found dead within a few weeks of each other. One was an apparent suicide and the other was a car accident- but I don't think for a damn second Lewis didn't have a hand in both.

"And it was at that point I realized he was simply covering his bases because he _knew_ he might have killed his brother for nothing. He knew I fucked up."

Arthur's expression was grim. "Lewis went looking for me but when I want to disappear, I can. The rest of the team went underground as well. As far as they were concerned, they were paid so they could afford to lay low for a bit."

_And when Lewis couldn't find you, he decided he wanted you to find him._

Ana began to see where the story was headed.

"How did he know about me?" she asked.

"The mind is unpredictable and in a lot of ways, uncontrollable." She could sense Arthur starting to draw away from her so she curled her fingers in tighter, even though it pulled on the stitches a little. He tended to do that, she noticed: when he was uncomfortable about something, he pulled away mentally or physically or both.

He looked down at their entwined hands, resigned.

"No matter how much you try to control your mind, your dreams, things can break out. I'm trained to protect my secrets but things we don't want to get through can."

He raised his head and looked into her face.

"I have a projection of you," he said, like he was admitting something horrible. "Sometimes the projection is of a child, you as a little girl. And sometimes… sometimes it's of you as you are now. It doesn't appear all the time but it started showing up more frequently when we stopped working together."

Ana said nothing. She could see how dangerous that could be.

"Most of the time projections are just simple constructs but they're also representations of elements of a dreamer's mind. The better they know the real version, the closer the projection is to reality. It knows what the dreamer knows. It can act the way the dreamer perceives that person to act."

Ana considered this and then frowned. "And how did my projection act in your dreams?"

"You… I mean _it_ appears in the background of things." Arthur looked uneasy. "It doesn't do anything really, just sort of hangs back and watches. You're a natural observer, unobtrusive most of the time but not exactly inconspicuous."

"You mean my projection deliberately draws attention to itself?" Ana asked, taken aback.

"No. Like I said, it usually just observes," Arthur said. He gestured to her face. "I meant that it was hard to ignore sometimes. As a little girl, it could easily be disregarded but when it looked like you, as you are now…"

He trailed off and cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "In any case, it stayed away from the people we used to work with, the other dream-workers. But when someone new came into the dream, it would get curious. During an early test run with Lewis, it approached him and started up a conversation. When I saw what was happening, I overreacted."

"What do you mean?"

"I shot it," he said. "Lewis looked like he was getting too interested in it. I told him we were there to work and I shot it to get it out of the way. In hindsight, I shouldn't have drawn attention to it. I thought he'd forget about it, that he'd think it was just another projection but my reaction tipped my hand."

"But how did he know I was a real person?"

Arthur pulled his hand completely away from hers.

"He spoke to it. I'm still not sure what it said but it was enough for him to remember you, to track you down later. You were honest… that was something my projection was as well. It could have been something as simple as your name."

He looked frustrated and Ana could see the lines of his shoulders begin to hunch up again. "But I don't know. I don't know what he said to it and I don't know what it said to him. What I said to him. Because the projection was _me_, it was a part of me and that means Lewis found you because of me."

Ana stayed silent and watched Arthur's expression twist into something pained and angry. Something inside of her agreed with him- Lewis' reaction wasn't his fault but the fact that she'd even been in his line of sight was, to a certain extent, Arthur's doing.

"He tried to reach me through one of my contact lines, said that if I didn't get back to him, he'd take something away from me." Arthur shook his head. "I didn't give a shit about that then- I know how to protect myself. I figured I'd let him hang himself, let the government close in on him and then I could come out of hiding."

"But then he found me," Ana said.

Arthur nodded, looking down at the sketch pad. "He found you and Matt."

Arthur reached out and picked up the pad, staring at the drawing of her asleep. In it, she was lying on her back but her face was turned to the side. There were shadows on her face and neck that indicated Eames had drawn it in the late afternoon. It was a peaceful image, one that Arthur seemed to find easier to look at it than her face.

"A few days later he left another message. Just an address and a date." His voice went oddly flat and monotone. "He didn't need to say anything else. You were… I heard you screaming in the background."

Ana shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Why did he take me and my brother? Why not just me?"

"You were taken from your home when Matt was over and he was collateral damage," said Arthur. "Your home showed signs of a massive struggle; it was clear you both put up a fight."

"So the only reason he was taken was because of me," Ana said, her stomach churning.

Arthur looked up, his eyes wide, and shook his head vehemently. "No, do not blame yourself for what happened to Matt. It wasn't your fault. You and Matt were innocent casualties of my mistakes. You had nothing at all to do with what happened to him."

"What did they do to him, Arthur?" Ana asked. Her heart started to beat rapidly and she was afraid to hear what Arthur had to say. She almost wanted him to stop but she knew she couldn't. In a near whisper she asked, "What did they do to _me_?"

_This is what I wanted to hear,_ she reminded herself. _Why I did all of this._

But the knowledge didn't make the sick feeling go away.

"Lewis had you for three days," Arthur said. "I brought in Eames to help track you down. The address Lewis gave me was just a meeting point and I wanted to find you before then but we didn't. I was so afraid that-"

His voice cracked and he shut his mouth with an audible click. Ana saw that his hands had started to shake a little.

"Arthur," she said, "what did Lewis do to us?"

"You were tortured," he said in a halting, cracked voice. "We couldn't find you before his date so he had that long to hurt you."

_Oh, god. _

Ana felt cold all over. "Did he… was I…"

Arthur met her eyes and shook his head.

"You weren't assaulted," Arthur said firmly. "I hacked into your medical records later and there were no signs of… of _that_. I don't know why, but most of his anger was taken out on your brother. I think it had to do with his own anger towards his brother- Matt as a proxy. Or maybe something about your projection helped shield you somehow- I just don't know. By then, Lewis was a wanted man. The CIA was after him. But he had you and Matt as easy targets.

"He wanted to scare you and he did. He kept you strapped down on a table and cut into you, deep enough to leave scars, deep enough that there was always the threat he'd just slice you open. He had his men beat you and your brother. By the time Eames and I showed up, you were in bad shape."

"But my brother was worse off."

"Matt was beaten so badly, he was barely recognizable," Arthur said. "He would have needed major surgery to reconstruct his face."

Almost as if he were in a daze, Arthur reached out and touched her face, running his thumb over her cheekbone. "And you... Your eye and your cheek on this side were so swollen, you could barely see. You didn't have your totem. You didn't know if you were dreaming or if what you were going through was real."

"So what happened, Arthur? Why did they kill Matthew?"

"When I showed up things got out of hand almost instantly," Arthur said, lowering his arm. "Eames and I came with back up but in the end, it came down to us and Lewis and two of his men in a room. Even though he knew it was over, Lewis wanted his revenge for his brother's death. He said he only wanted to pay me back in kind, an eye for an eye- one life for another. He'd even give me a choice, just as I made a choice the last time."

Without really meaning to, Ana recoiled from Arthur. "You chose me over Matthew."

Arthur's eyes were large and dark but to her confusion, he shook his head.

"Lewis made you beg for your lives but you each begged us not to kill the other. You begged me to spare your brother."

He closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, so deep and so harsh that she could see his chest move with the effort. "I was trying to buy more time. The people we came with, I could hear them making their way towards us outside. They had to deal with the rest of his guards and make sure it was safe for us to get out. I knew if I could just hold Lewis off long enough, that if I could keep him talking, maybe we could get you both out of there but he... He asked us which one it would be: you or your brother. Which one? Which one do I want to watch die like he watched his own blood, his own brother, die. He said that was my fault, my responsibility and what I started with his brother's death would end with one of yours."

He stopped for a moment and then shook his head, more to himself than to her.

"I knew that even if we tried, if we moved as fast as we could, a bullet could travel faster and there were guns at your heads. They would have killed you… if I didn't make a choice, it would be both of you and they were going to take you first…"

Arthur's face crumpled and Ana could see everything he'd been trying to hide behind his carefully constructed walls. He looked like a man torn by indecision and guilt, someone who'd made himself sick with it all.

_He knew he'd have to live with the consequences of his decision, _she thought. "You couldn't choose, could you? So you weren't the one who made the choice."

At the question, Arthur seemed to pull himself together again. His expression evened out and he straightened, squaring his shoulders and swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that his feet were flat on the floor with his back to her.

She could see the tense lines of his back and she reached out and pressed her hand against him. Ana had a feeling that that was all he would allow- it wasn't so much her touch that bothered him, but the comfort he would have gotten from it.

"I took too long to answer." His voice was once again steady as he went on. "Lewis gave his man the signal and he was going to take you out first but Eames told him to take Matt, not you. And Lewis did. Matt died and a moment later, our back up came through the doors. They grabbed Lewis before he could escape. Then Eames and I got you out of there."

"Was there gunfire?" Ana asked. Arthur turned his head a little so that she could see his profile.

"Yes."

"Did someone accidentally shoot me?"

Arthur frowned and his brow wrinkled. "No, you weren't hit. The people we came with provided enough cover so that Eames and I could grab you and Matt and get out."

_They took my brother's body_.

She wondered what the condition of it had been, especially if he had been shot at point blank. She wondered what Arthur had been thinking at the time, running with the body of his dead friend, the one he could have saved if he'd been quicker to speak. She wondered what he'd had to do, what he'd been prepared to do, to make sure they got out of there safely.

"When was I shot then?" Ana asked. She remembered looking at her reflection days ago, seeing the raised flesh of her scars on her shoulder. "It happened that day, didn't it?"

Arthur flinched underneath her hand. His back was a hard, knotted mess of muscle and she could almost feel the aching soreness they must have caused him.

"Arthur?"

Before she could stop him, he got to his feet in one swift, graceful movement. She scrambled to her knees on the bed and looked up at him in surprise and dismay.

"Don't go," she said. "I didn't-"

"I shot you," Arthur said, looking down at her with large, nearly round eyes. "We were on the way to the hospital. You were unconscious but then you woke up and… And you were so _lost_. You didn't want to believe you weren't dreaming- you couldn't accept the truth. We had to pull over because you were out of your mind with terror. Hysterical… screaming and there was so much blood…"

"Arthur-"

"We got out of the car. You were going to hurt yourself so we needed to tranq you but before Eames or I could stop you, you took the gun we kept there and said you needed to get back topside because you were trapped."

He raised his arm and pointed at his temple. "You held it right here and asked me if we missed the kick. Your finger was on the trigger and you were ready to pull."

"You stopped me. You saved my life," Ana said quietly.

His hands dropped to his sides and he looked at her with a wrecked, anguished expression.

Before she could get to her feet and reach him, Arthur turned around and left the room.

**###**

_How do we wake up when we miss the kick?_

_What do we do when we want to stay in a dream?_

_Different questions, same answer._

**###**

**Please read/review- thank you!**


	23. All the King's Men

**A/N: **A longer interlude here. I wanted to show moments in Ana's relationships with Eames, Arthur and Gideon (who will play a bigger role in future chapters). And also… the turning point where Ana begins to change.

Let me know what you think- love hearing from you all! =)

**All the King's Men**

**I.**

"You did great today."

Ana looked over at Arthur and gave him a small but pleased smile. They were sitting on the hotel couch, waiting for the hours to pass until their respective flights home. It was too late to go to sleep, too early to go to the airport and Arthur didn't like being seen in public after a job. Their bags were packed and ready at the door but for now, all they could do was sit, watch television and _wait_.

"Thanks," she said, looking back at the flat screen across the room. "You set everything up though so il mio successo il vostro successor… or however you say that."

Arthur pretended to wince at Ana's very poor attempt at Italian.

"My _ears_," he said and Ana rolled her eyes, moving closer to swat him on the arm.

"Snob," she said, falling back on the cushion with a hard thump. Arthur could feel the heat from her body seep into his side, from leg to thigh to arm, and fought not to react as she wiggled closer against him. "Not everyone has a Babel fish in their ear so I'm sorry if my language skills aren't up to your standards."

"_French_, Ana, at least learn that," he said. His heart began to beat just a little faster when her arm came to rest across his waist and he fought to keep his voice steady. "At the very least learn how to order in a cafe."

"Un chocolat chaud, s'il te plait," Ana said promptly and Arthur had to laugh.

"You won't even try to make that sound right, will you?"

"I'd sound even more ridiculous if I tried to sound like a native," said Ana. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and sighed. "You know I'm not good at languages. And besides, I have you."

Even though she meant it jokingly, Arthur had to swallow down a lump that had formed in his throat. Her absolute faith in him was both a gift and a burden. Someday he knew he'd fail her, make a misstep that would shake her confidence in him and make her look at him differently.

He turned his head a little to look down at her, but she was staring at the screen again. "I guess I should feel a little better knowing you can get your hands on a cup of hot chocolate in France."

"Oui," Ana said and Arthur smiled.

This was his favorite part of their jobs. After everything was done and they had another success under their belts, when their money had been wired to their accounts and all that needed to be done was to call a cab to get to the airport- Arthur could _rest. _He could allow himself to touch and be touched- like a reward at the end of a task, and Ana always seemed happy to comply.

It was intoxicating, knowing that despite the years they'd spent apart, Arthur could still _have_ her.

_Not completely… but it's enough. It has to be enough._

Arthur knew, though it had never been explicitly said, that she would willingly offer him even more than she already did: all he had to do was accept it. But he also knew that anything more would put her in danger. She was already associated with him and that made her a target. Ana didn't know how closely Arthur had to monitor the gossip around them, nor did she know how close some people had gotten to tracking her down.

He had to walk a fine line every time they worked together and in his mind, there was no question about his priorities. Her safety was his responsibility.

Ana made a small, snuffling sound that pulled him out of his thoughts and Arthur realized that she had slumped against him, completely relaxed. Her head felt heavy against his arm and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she looked at the screen.

"Hey, go ahead and take a nap," he said, suddenly feeling tired himself. "I'll wake you up when we need to leave."

He frowned when she tensed and then made to sit up. Without thinking about it, he reached out and pulled her back against him, putting an arm around her shoulders to keep her in place. She looked up at him and sniffed.

"Nah, if you can stay up, so can I," she said but her words were thick and slightly slurred. "And I can sleep on the flight. Just… just talk to me. Tell me a story or something."

"You want one of Matt's famous fairytales?"

"God, no," Ana said with a giggle. "That really will put me to sleep. Tell me about your military days or something. An adventure story… one where you got to be a hero."

Arthur shook his head and then rested his chin against the top of her head. She had curled back around him but this time she'd tangled her legs with his. Arthur felt a familiar sense of protectiveness run through him.

_My responsibility. _

There weren't many things he valued- almost everything could be replaced after all. He thought nothing of spending hundreds and thousands of dollars on clothing and food, condos and cars. But the things he couldn't buy, like trust and loyalty and friendship… he'd protect those things with his life.

_Mine to take care of._

"Yeah, not many of those to be honest," he said. "How about I tell you about the first time I went to Shanghai? I didn't speak the local dialect and apparently my translator was fucking with me the entire time. At one point, I walked into a restaurant and ordered sleep. The translator just sat there and laughed his ass off while I was trying to figure out why I kept getting a pillow shoved in my face. Oh, and I also asked the waitress if she could give me an STD instead of a side order of cauliflower. Finally, I got so fed up I looked up how to say, 'I will shoot you if you don't stop being an asshole' and practiced it all night so I could say it perfectly."

Ana murmured something under her breath and he realized that she was drifting off. Her face was slack, cheek pressed against his chest, and her eyes were completely shut.

_After everything I've done, all the things I've had to do…_

It gave him a heady rush to know that someone could still feel completely at ease with him.

"Okay, Sleeping Beauty," he said in a softer voice. "How about you pretend to keep listening to me and I pretend to keep telling you stories. That work for you?"

She made another inarticulate noise, something that to his ears sounded vaguely like 'whatever you say' but could have been 'elephants are gray' and then fell silent. For a few minutes, Arthur listened to the deep, steady sound of her breaths.

When he was sure she'd fallen asleep, Arthur carefully reached for the remote and changed the channel. He could stay up alone for two more hours and keep watch. He ran his chin absently against her hair and tried to follow along with the talk show he'd landed on.

They were warm and safe; all was right with the world.

**II.**

"Ryan Ashworth, my freshman year in high school. I was fourteen and he was an older man."

Ana swung her legs back and forth from her perch on the windowsill beside his drafting table and Eames looked up from his plans with a raised eyebrow.

"Mm, an older man you say?" he said, twirling his pencil between two fingers. "And how much older was this _Ryan_?"

Ana looked at him solemnly and leaned forward, dipping her head down slightly so that the overhead lights in the studio cast shadows on her face. "Oh, much older. He was a very worldly sixteen."

Eames laughed. He stretched, feeling his shirt stretch over his chest and he didn't miss the way Ana's gaze flickered down his body momentarily.

They were working late two days before their latest job. While Ana had Arthur's workaholic tendencies this time it was Eames who insisted on burning the midnight oil. It was their third job together and it was a tricky one that required two levels. He'd tried to persuade Ana to return to the hotel after their small team had convened for the day, or at the very least take advantage of the fading sunlight to explore Prague, but to his very pleasant surprise she'd stayed with him- even going out and bringing back a late supper for them to share.

Their conversation had wandered into various topics. Sometimes they lapsed into long stretches of silence as Eames modified his plans and Ana added to her case notes.

Eames found it easy to be around her, to work with her. There was no push and pull with Ana, no suspicions about ulterior motives or constant challenges to his authority. She'd offer her opinion and poke holes where she found them but otherwise, she carried on with her work as quietly and diligently as she always had.

In many ways, Ana was still the little duckling he'd thought her to be on their first job together but Eames knew that what he'd mistaken for naivety was actually a complete and utter confidence in her own skills. She was easy-going and calm but she wasn't afraid of tearing apart flimsy plans with a few sharp observations and undeniable logic. She didn't have to hide anything because no one could hide from her; she had no need to use her claws on anyone because she could spot their weaknesses within seconds of meeting them.

She'd toughened out though. Her time in the business, especially at the end of her tenure with Arthur, had worn her down in many ways. But that bright-eyed, unabashed curiosity remained, making her seem far younger than her years.

_But always, always so lovely throughout it all._

And when it came to Eames, Ana simply expected him to perform well, to be the best in everything he did, and that quiet belief drove him to work harder. Yet he didn't feel the need to show off because Ana acknowledged his talent and assumed he'd use his skills for their benefit.

As his point, she was more a researcher than first in the line of fire, but he knew his own tacit expectations of her work- that it be complete and thorough, was enough. She wasn't Arthur, _no one_ could be Arthur, but she had no need to be.

Now though, Eames was almost satisfied with the layout for the second level and he allowed himself the moment's indulgence. They had fallen into a discussion of their childhood crushes and Eames was charmed by the image of Ana as a shy teenager silently pining after boys who were older than her_._

"And what was it about this _Ryan _that made him special?" Eames asked, grinning.

"He was tall and blonde and handsome," Ana said, sounding almost wistful but not at all embarrassed. In fact, she seemed amused. "He had the bluest eyes and dimples- oh, his dimples! He had girls eating out of his hand. I was a little mousy nerd who loved him from afar."

"Ah, I can't quite imagine you as a mouse," Eames said, poking her bare knee with the blunt end of his pencil. "A puppy, perhaps. Or a tiny teacup kitten. But never a mouse."

Ana ducked her head and smiled deprecatingly. "You'd be surprised. I practically lived in the library my freshman year. My brother tried his best to get me out of there and socialize. He was the popular one, you know? Matt was the best- he just knew how to make people feel good about themselves around him."

She dropped her voice and pretended to grow stern. "He'd say, 'Quit acting like grandma and get out of there.' But I was a bookworm and besides, it's not like I was alone or anything. I had-"

She cut off suddenly and blinked, as if jerked out of her own story. She stopped swinging her legs and Eames could see her hands tighten where they gripped the edge of her seat.

Then she shrugged.

"Arthur was always with me," she finished in a small, quiet voice. "I had Arthur."

Eames felt his chest twist unhappily at the sudden change in her mood but he kept his voice light as he spoke next. "My first real crush was the winsome Amanda whose last name, unfortunately, is lost to the misty fog of time and my shoddy memory. I was seven and she was eight and I asked her to marry me after a wonderful afternoon spent playing conkers. She broke my heart when she turned me down. I was devastated."

Ana seemed to perk up and she shook her head, smiling. "A marriage proposal? Advanced for your age, weren't you? Did you drown your sorrows in glasses of milk and cookies?"

"_Tea_. I drowned my sorrows in cups of _tea_," Eames said. He was pleased that she seemed to recover quickly enough from the shadow that Arthur's name conjured, though he wasn't entirely fooled by her too-wide smile. "But let's go back to Ryan, shall we? I believe that if he were worth even a fraction of your regard, he'd have gone after you straight off."

Ana snorted. "He was way out of my league," she said, "and we both knew it. Besides, my brother would have killed him if he tried anything. Matty was always a tiny bit overprotective. He was only a few minutes older but he treated me like I was years younger."

"Ah, but he had reason to be," Eames said. "I would bet good money that you were a constant cause of concern for your brother growing up. Having a pretty sister is always trouble. The prettier the sister, the bigger the trouble."

Ana huffed but her cheeks turned a deep pink. "If you'd seen me back then, you wouldn't say that," she said, shaking her head. She gestured to herself. "I was flat as a board and scrawny and too pale. Always had my nose in a book, too. But it wasn't too bad- school, I mean. I had friends and I did well for myself."

"I think you highly underestimate yourself, love. I bet you left a swathe of utterly devastated teenage boys in your wake."

_And I'm sure one boy in particular never quite grew out of that. _

Not for the first time did Eames feel a twinge of envy. Arthur had secured her loyalty simply by being present for their formative years, by being _first._

It wasn't fair but Eames knew he was slowly gaining traction. The other man may have had the early advantage but, with every passing job Eames was adding to a strong foundation for something more than Arthur would have ever considered for himself.

_Because he had no imagination when it came to the big picture._

_He could imagine the worst scenarios but never the best and he missed out. _

Eames was determined not to end up like him. He wanted more and he wasn't afraid to go after it.

"In fact, I'm sure your brother spent most of his time staring down your would-be suitors, pet."

"Well, he didn't," she said. Ana kicked Eames lightly on his thigh and he swatted at her foot playfully. "What about you?"

"What of me?" Eames said. He was daring her to pry into his life, seeing how far she'd go. Ana could have dug into his past by inference or by research, but Eames knew that she found the spoken confession far more valuable. If she asked him about his past then it meant she truly wanted to know what he had to say. "I've no twin, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, I know," Ana said matter-of-fact. "You have a younger sister and brother, of course."

"Of course," Eames repeated, amused. And it was true- he did.

"I meant that… well, I imagine you probably have, how did you put it? A swathe of utterly devastated broken hearts behind you by now, Mr. Eames," Ana said, half-teasing, half-serious. "But I can't say you're the love them and leave them type either, no matter how much you play that way."

"You don't think so?" Eames asked, rubbing his mouth. "What if I told you that the reason I'm no longer allowed in the states is because of one very angry woman with an admittedly legitimate grudge to bear?"

Ana looked at him closely with narrowed eyes and then gave him an uncharacteristic yet delightful little smirk. "Family doesn't count," she said and Eames had to laugh.

"I didn't have much time to cultivate romantic ties when I was younger and all of _this_," he said, waving his hand around them at the studio," doesn't exactly allow for flowers and chocolates. Relationships, if you'd like to call it that, are mostly transient things. Fun, of course, and I've had some very wonderful experiences but nothing more than fleeting moments. It's difficult to trust career criminals with your life, much less more. There are some who have coupled off in the business but they're an exception, rather than the rule."

An odd, almost sad little expression flitted across her face.

"I guess you're right," she said. "It gets lonely though. Constantly coming and going and watching people around you do the same. I mean, what we do is exciting and crazy and amazing. But don't you ever just… I don't know, want something a little more?"

Eames put his pencil down on the table and looked at her intently.

"Of course," he said seriously. "But I've come to want more than simply a companion- I want an absolutely equal partnership. Someone who's seen and been through the things I have, who _understands_ this world."

Ana looked bemused but Eames didn't doubt that she understood what he was saying. It was telling she didn't suggest that he do something else beyond dream-share or the occasional real-world crime.

_Because she knows I wouldn't ever consider not dreaming. _

"Don't you think it would make things complicated?" she asked. "Sharing this sort of life with someone else? It's… it's dangerous. You'd be a weakness; you'd _have_ a weakness that people could exploit."

_Is that what Arthur told you? _Eames wondered. _ Is that how he drove you away?_

"Why would I even consider anyone who doesn't know what it feels like to share a dream?" He drew in a breath and looked at the model town beside his table. "I'm a romantic at heart and I won't insult you by pretending this is any sort of revelation but I'm also a realist. Most of the people we work with can't be trusted unless they're within our line of sight. I won't accept anything less than what I want so for now, transience it is."

Ana frowned.

"Well, I guess no one should settle," she said. She looked away and smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. "I never wanted the white picket fence but you know, my parents loved each other until the very end of their lives. And Matty- seeing him with his family… it makes me want it too, sometimes. I mean, I'm happy with what I have but… sometimes I wish there was someone waiting at home for me. Would be nice, I think, to have what they have."

She sounded pensive, almost melancholy and her longing was a raw, nearly palpable thing. The earlier twist in Eames' heart become more acute as he watched her pick idly at the edge of her dress, deep in thought.

"Perhaps you shouldn't want someone waiting at home for you," he said, staring intently at her. She raised her head and looked back at him. "Perhaps it would be better if you had someone who wouldn't stand for being left behind."

Ana opened her mouth and then closed it, blinking. She tilted her head to the side and studied him; he allowed it for a beat longer before nodding towards the door and holding out his hand.

"Come on then," he said. "I'm done here and if we're to continue this night of maudlin confessions, we should at least do it with alcohol. I believe our hotel bar is open for a few hours yet."

Ana smiled at him. She took his hand.

**III.**

Gideon Klein paused before opening the door to Ana's private hospital room. He placed his hand on the handle and stared down it for a moment.

It was the first time that he'd gone to see Ana when she wasn't unconscious or drugged beyond reason.

He was rarely given to moments of hesitation or self-doubt and he knew what the other agents thought about him; that he was self-centered and arrogant. That didn't bother him because it was true. He was _ambitious_ but there was nothing wrong with that.

What bothered him was the underlying implication that he would climb his way to the top over the backs of his colleagues or that he would leave his partner, assigned or chosen, to hang in the wind.

Gideon would do anything to win. He would always look to stack the odds in his favor in whatever he did because he was his own first priority. But he knew what being partners meant- namely, that you had each other's back no matter what.

It was a little funny then, Gideon thought before gathering up his resolve and pushing the door in, that in the beginning he'd disliked Ana.

During that first year as her partner he didn't want to be her partner at all. She was too soft, too accommodating to make him feel at ease around her. Of course he respected her- he respected anyone who showed even an iota of intelligence but she took far too many liberties with her status as a consultant and disappeared too frequently for him to trust her. Gideon would have asked for a new partner sooner but Ana had a high close rate and he knew that being attached to her was one way to gain attention from their superiors.

But then Ana stopped traveling and began to take on more cases with him. Gideon, much to his surprise, began to actually _like_ her. She may have lacked ambition but she wasn't at all bad to have around.

So when strange men who were clearly on the wrong side of the law called him on a Thursday afternoon, telling him they had his partner and that he needed to get on a plane to California _right the fuck now_… Well, Gideon hadn't asked questions before booking a flight.

But now as he entered the room, he wondered, and not for the first time, if he'd arrived too late.

_If they'd called me sooner, if I had taken the other flight…_

_If I had found her first…_

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind as he closed the door behind him. Regret was another emotion he wasn't used to feeling.

The first thing he noticed was the cloyingly sweet smell of flowers. Almost every surface was covered with cards from friends and colleagues, and there were several bouquets of flowers surrounding Ana's bed.

Gideon made a face as he looked around, everywhere but the bed where she lay.

_I'll get rid of those later,_ he thought eyeing the flowers with distaste. They were garish reminders of the ordeal Ana had just gone through and it disgusted him.

_As if store-bought cards or flowers really mean anything. _

_As if they can help the damage that's been done._

Then Gideon noticed a brightly colored book on the side table next to her bed. It was so strange and out of place that his frown grew deeper. He walked towards it, picking it up and flipping through the thick pages.

It was a child's book of nursery rhymes and riddles. There were stains in some places and the binding was creased, but it was a book that had been cared for and well-loved.

Of this, he approved. This was a real sacrifice, a symbol of the comfort that a child sought to give through loss. Someone had given up something beloved for Ana.

The book fell naturally on one page and Gideon stared down at it, reading silently.

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._

_All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again._

"I take it Sandra and the children were here," Gideon said out loud, putting the book back on the table. He stared at the cover for a moment. "Madeline, is that her name? I met her today. She was looking for you."

And then, realizing how it must have sounded, he added, "But she understood you were sick. That you wanted to be there."

He winced inside. After all, no one ever _wanted_ to be at their brother's funeral.

With a deep sigh, Gideon stood to face her, turning his back on the window. His suit jacket felt too tight and he reached up to loosen his tie. The funeral had been a small, brief affair but the grief that pervaded the gathering had been thick, almost suffocating.

Sandra, Matt's widow, had stood stoically at the side of the coffin, clutching the hand of her little girl and holding on to the handle of the carriage that held her other children. He found out later that day, when she greeted him distantly but politely, that they were barely eight months old and they were paternal twins.

A boy and a girl- just like Matt and Ana.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, unsettled by her continued silence. "Can you talk?"

She turned her head slowly, away from the blank wall she'd been staring at, to look at him.

At least now, Gideon thought, he could _see_ her face. But still he flinched.

Only a little over a week before, he'd been shocked at the sight of her misshapen features. Though the staff at the hospital in San Francisco cleaned her up as best they could, Ana had been a broken, bloodied mess. She'd been delirious, too much in pain to know what was happening to her and she screamed and screamed and screamed until the sedation and painkillers finally kicked in. He doubted she'd even been aware of being transferred cross-country back to D.C.

Up until just recently, Ana was kept sedated so that they could repair her face.

The second surgery to fix her fractured cheekbone had taken place only the day before and both her eyes were still a bright scarlet, the broken vessels bleeding into the sclera from the procedure. The skin on her face was mottled and puffy with fading bruises and a large cut on the side of her mouth had begun to scab over. It all worked to give her a shockingly demonic appearance.

Her arm and shoulder were in a cast and he could see the thick layer of bandages around her torso through her thin shirt. He'd been told Ana had been shot but that she'd been lucky: the bullet missed the major arteries and only nicked the socket joint. Just half an inch to the left or right would have left her with irreparable damage.

However, luck was a subjective term. She had three or four months of intensive physical therapy ahead of her. The miracles of modern medicine could only do so much, after all.

_Three broken ribs, a broken collarbone, permanent scarring, severe dehydration, the threat of infection._

Ana looked like she'd been dragged through hell.

"A.D. Marks says that the CIA is grateful for our help," Gideon said, after it became obvious that she wasn't going to respond. "I doubt I'll ever find out the truth about what happened to you, but apparently you were involved in helping them catch a man they've been after for some time now."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

"I don't know if that's true but I know that you have friends in very high places. Or low places, depending on how you see things." He looked around the room. "This has all been paid for. You'll get the best care for as long as you need it- even better than what the Bureau offers, I've heard. And Marks' keeping his mouth shut about the details- there's been no briefing and I doubt there'll be any reports on this."

He hesitated for just a moment before asking, "Who were those men, Ana? The ones that called me to San Francisco."

To his surprise, Ana sneered and her eyes flashed with some unfamiliar and foreign expression.

He'd gone to San Francisco alone but requested the help of agents on site. Without knowing what he was walking into, he thought it would be prudent to have support in case he needed it. He'd made several calls to the hospital officials as well, ensuring that from that point on no one except for the FBI would be allowed into her room.

What he _had_ walked into was chaos. The waiting room looked as if it had been trashed and there were men in gear that screamed special ops arguing with his agents and in the middle of it all were two men.

Both had been covered in blood.

"Arthur and Eames," Ana said. The skin around her mouth tightened and her entire face seemed to harden. "Arthur broke his promise."

He watched her good hand curl into a fist. "He did this."

_That changes things._

Gideon suspected they were involved somehow but this was unexpected.

From the way the men… _Arthur _and _Eames_ had acted Gideon had assumed they were on Ana's side. He'd almost come to blows with one of them over access into her room and only the threat of an arrest could make him back down.

_They just disappeared when none of us were looking._

Gideon put his hand on the rail next to her bed and looked down at her broken, mottled face. She'd been pretty before and he'd heard the doctors say that she'd be pretty again after all her wounds had healed though he knew she didn't care about any of that.

She wasn't vain- Gideon had always liked that about her, but he doubted that she'd ever be physically or mentally restored. He didn't doubt they could repair her face but there was a strange, manic gleam to her eyes, a bitter cast to the set of her mouth, that couldn't be erased by any superficial fix. Anyone who had gone through what she had, who'd lost someone under those circumstances, would be fundamentally changed.

_Her brother was buried today and s__he was alone in this room when he was put in the ground._

"We can find them," Gideon said in a low tone. "Arthur and Eames. I'll help you."

Ana regarded him for a moment and then said hoarsely, "What if I told you that I could bring Matt back? What if, in my dreams, he could be alive again?"

Gideon glanced at the morphine drip next to her bed and wondered if he needed to say something to her doctors. Anger flared up inside him- the last thing she needed was hallucinations caused by her drugs.

"You should get some rest," Gideon said, as gently as he could. "It's been a long day-"

"I've been in this fucking room for days," Ana spat out. "Don't tell me to get any more rest. Don't you dare!"

Gideon jerked back a little, shocked but regained his balance a moment later. He straightened and nodded, narrowing his eyes.

"I felt it," she said, leaning forward. Her blood-filled eyes seemed to bore into him. "When they shot him in the head, I felt Matt _die_. I knew he was gone before he hit the floor. I felt his death inside me and it was like being torn apart, like having someone rip me apart and then there was nothing and he was gone! And now I'm in here and Arthur is-"

An alarm went off beside her bed.

Ana suddenly clutched her chest, gasping for air, and Gideon pitched forward to grab the alert button from her side. Before he could reach it, she knocked it to the floor out of his reach.

"I'm not crazy," she said looking up at his face. She was wheezing a little but growing calmer, getting herself under control again. She lowered her hand and dug her fingers into the blankets. "I know what's happened to me. I know what's real and what isn't. I know I'm awake."

The last part sounded as if Ana was on the verge of tears. They weren't close by any means and he didn't know what to do- if he should leave or comfort her. He wasn't prepared to help anyone in her situation.

_But I can't leave her alone._

He watched helplessly as she hung her head and began to cry.

"I know I'm awake," she whispered. "I know I'm awake."

Gideon stood by her bedside and said nothing.

**###**

**Please read and review- thanks!**


	24. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I can't spoil what happens in this chapter (but some of you will be happy, I hope) so how about I just ask if anyone's seen Prometheus yet. Logan Marshall-Green really does look like Tom Hardy (if you squint a little).

**Chapter 18**

"You've developed a knack for disappearing on me."

Ana looked up from where she sat on the kitchen floor. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't heard Eames coming. Then again, she thought, he was barefoot and dressed in soft, well-worn clothing.

"It took me a good five minutes to find you. And in my own home, mind," Eames went on, staring down at her. He looked bemused as he took in the mess around her but she could see the way his lips twitched slightly. "If you were hungry, you could have just said so."

Ana paused, decided she was too tired to feel embarrassed and shrugged. She leaned forward and took a cookie from one of the many packages surrounding her, holding it out for Eames to take.

"I wasn't really hungry," she said. "I was curious."

Eames took the cookie and tilted his head to the side.

"Curious about what?" he asked, before taking a bite of it. She watched him carefully as he chewed but there was nothing that showed anything was wrong with it.

"I wanted to see if some things had changed," she said. She motioned for him to sit down next to her and he made a face.

"Ah, I'm sorry," he said, finishing off the cookie and then holding his hand out to her. "You'll have to come up to me. Cold floors and old knees do not a happy combination make."

Ana smiled slightly despite herself and took his hand. He pulled her up easily and she bent down to pick up the packages she'd opened.

"What did you mean you wanted to see if things had changed?" Eames asked, as she put them all on the counter. There were over a dozen boxes and bags; all different kinds of sugary desserts and snacks that she had found scattered in his cupboards and drawers. Various flavors of cookies and brownies with nuts and marshmallows, bars of candy that looked imported, gummy worms and fruit O's … some of them were older and some of them were clearly bought the night before.

She had tried them all, taking small bites of every treat and nearly gagging on some of them. She felt slightly ill though she knew that it was only due in small part to the amount of sugar she just consumed.

_It's all wrong. _

Ana stopped and looked at Eames, gesturing to the pile she'd created. "You told me more than once that I like sweet things. I have a sweet tooth, I ate my weight in these things, so on and so forth. But I can't even seem to finish one thing. Whenever I put something sweet in my mouth, it tastes-

_Like copper and iron._

_Blood. Sweat._

_Fear._

-off," she said, shaking her head. "I tried every single thing I could get my hands on and all of it was… it just wasn't any good."

She looked back down at the packages and sighed heavily. "But none of it has gone bad so that means there's something wrong with me."

Eames said nothing for a moment but she could tell he was troubled. He turned towards the windows and to anyone else it might have seemed that he was simply staring at the evening sky. Yet his eyes were thoughtful, and his thumb curled in a little towards his palm, as if he were rubbing his poker chip.

"I don't know what it means," he said finally, turning his gaze back towards her. "But I don't think there's any sense worrying about it at the moment. Now, what brought about this sudden need to break into my stash?"

His tone was playful, teasing, but she could tell he was serious. He started to close the boxes and bags, moving around her though Ana knew he was paying very close attention.

"A hunch," she said. She looked down at her hands and fiddled with the fraying end of a bandage. "I remembered the morning at the café and I thought…"

Eames clicked his tongue at her and she looked up to find him shaking his head. "You've such a lovely face, pet. Every emotion just pops right up. It's why our marks found it easy to trust you. You can be so painfully earnest."

Eames' voice was warm but his expression was disappointed as he looked over his shoulder at her. He was taking ingredients out and placing them next to the stove as he spoke. "So please, don't bother lying to me. You're quite bad at it."

"I'm not lying," Ana said, straightening. It may not have been the full truth but she wasn't outright lying. "I did want to… I mean, there's nothing else for me to do here and I wanted to…"

Eames turned around and leaned on the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, probing and assessing. She stopped and rubbed her eyes, feeling unsure and unsettled.

"Arthur told me how my brother died," she said in a small, quiet voice. "He told me about Lewis and what happened to me… Matthew and me, I mean. So I guess I just wanted a distraction."

The air seemed to grow heavy and thick and Ana forced herself to look back up at him.

She felt a chill run through her at the carefully placid, almost blank look on his face.

"He told you everything?"

Ana gestured vaguely. "Just about, I think. Arthur left before he told me what happened to Lewis in the end but I know I was tortured, that my brother was killed in front of me. I know that I thought I was dreaming."

"And you know my role in it," Eames said slowly. "You know what I did."

Ana narrowed her eyes; all at once, his reaction made sense.

"Did you know Matthew?" she asked. "Did you meet him?"

The question seemed to startle Eames. He turned his back on her and began to fuss about with the items he'd placed on the counter. His muscles bunched and shifted underneath his shirt as he moved.

"I never had the pleasure, no," said Eames, sounding deceptively light. "You always talked about him though- to the point where I felt like I knew him well enough. It was obvious you were very fond of each other."

_So you knew what you were doing when you made that choice, _Ana thought but she felt no real resentment towards Eames. He'd never met her brother and even though he knew they'd been close, Ana could see why Eames had done what he had.

They had a history together- a _relationship_. Despite knowing of him, Matthew would have been a stranger to Eames. Faced with that choice, it must have been easy to choose between them.

_Up until that point, Matthew was just a name._

It was a cold thought but logical. Eames had made the choice that Arthur, with his knowledge and familiarity with her brother, had trouble making. In that moment, when it seemed that Lewis was going to choose her, Eames did what Arthur couldn't do.

"Eames," she said his name cautiously, as if she were trying to calm him. "What you did was-"

"Arthur had no right to tell you, not without me there." He suddenly sounded furious and Ana jumped when he slammed a pan down on the stove. "I told him we had to tell you what happened ages ago but _he_ wanted to wait. I… I wanted to be the one to explain so you'd understand."

He stopped moving. For a moment, he looked down at the counter before him, with his hands splayed on the surface and his head bowed.

"It couldn't have been easy," she started but closed her mouth when he turned around.

"It wasn't easy? It was the hardest thing. You have to believe me," he said. His face looked oddly pale, almost ashen. "You were on your knees and you were telling Arthur to choose Matthew over you, telling him your brother had a family and that you-"

Eames drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You said you had nothing else so Matthew deserved to live. You were begging Arthur for his life but your brother… he looked at me the entire time. He _knew_ that I couldn't let you be the one."

He spoke quickly, almost breathlessly, as if he were afraid she was going to interrupt him.

"So I made the choice and if I had to do it again, I wouldn't change it. I don't know if I can make you understand that. There was no other choice. There was _no_ choice_. _I know what I did altered your life but I'm not sorry, I cannot be sorry, for the result."

He stared at her with barely contained desperation. Arthur may have been easier to read but she was learning Eames just as well. She knew that nothing about his fear was affected; he was genuinely terrified of her reaction.

_But he's not running._

"What happened to me after?" she asked. "Did you or Arthur ever come to see me? Or did you just…"

_Leave me behind._

But that didn't seem right at all, especially knowing all that Arthur and Eames had done for her.

_They wouldn't have left me afloat. Not when I couldn't tell reality apart from dreams._

"We had to tie up a few loose ends and deal with the rest of Lewis' men," Eames said, swallowing. "It took weeks but afterwards I tried to reach you. I don't know about Arthur but I did try. Your numbers had been disengaged and your personal email addresses were deleted. I tried to come into the states but I was effectively barred. My face was tagged by security officials. I didn't try private flights because it was clear by then you didn't want anything to do with me. Word came through that anyone associated with me, anyone who tried to contact you who had even the slightest connection to me would be arrested. I would imagine Arthur had the same experience if he made any attempts."

Ana had no doubts that Arthur had tried but it was telling that Eames hadn't tried to reach him for his help.

"All I knew was that you were alive. That much I could find out." Eames rubbed his mouth and looked away, slumping back against the counter. "I haven't worked with Arthur since that time. The only reason I took this job was because I knew you were in."

Ana filed that tidbit away. "You thought I was coming back even though I had already walked from dream-share?"

Eames smiled wanly at her and held out his hands, palms up. "What can I say? Hope defies logic. But you see, very few of us can truly walk away and not look back at least once. After everything, I thought perhaps…"

He trailed off and looked away.

"You thought I wanted to escape reality," Ana finished for him.

Without looking back at her, he nodded.

"And maybe I did that," she said. "This mess we're in now doesn't exactly point to someone who was dealing well with life. I'm hiding inside myself, aren't I? Hiding from the real world."

_Who is the real personality? Who am I really now? _

_Who do I want to be?_

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts before she scared herself even more. Having an existential meltdown wouldn't help matters.

"Eames, I'm alive because of you," Ana said, after some silence. "I understand why I was so angry at you but the fact is, if you hadn't spoken for me, I wouldn't be here. And I can't say that I'm not glad for that, despite everything that's happening."

Eames looked back at her with wide eyes, looking as if he'd been struck dumb. He stood up straight and took a step towards her before hesitating again.

"But you're not angry now," he said, staring at her closely. His eyes were bright and intense.

"No, I'm not," she said. "I don't know if I can be, to be honest. But I'll tell you what I told Arthur- whether or not things go well tomorrow, I won't blame you. Not for anything you've done. I owe you and Arthur my life. I understand that much."

She looked down again and frowned. "Though if I don't get my memories back, I don't know what I'll do. I don't think I should go home. I won't fit back into my old life and I'll only draw attention to you both. I have some money so I guess I can-"

She heard Eames move and then she felt his hands on her face, tilting her head up slightly. His thumb brushed over her cheek and he leaned down so their foreheads touched. It was an intimate gesture, one that made her mouth feel dry and her throat close up. He smelled like paint and tea and she watched his mouth move as he spoke.

"Don't you worry about that," he said in rough voice. "Regardless of tomorrow's outcome, you won't want for anything, I promise you."

"You've done enough, I think," she said, reaching up to curl her fingers around his wrists. The very nearness of him, his heat and his scent, made her feel light-headed. "I dragged you into this mess, after all. But thank you, I'm really-"

It shouldn't have been a surprise. It was obvious that Eames still felt _something_ for her but Ana froze when she felt his lips press against hers in an almost chaste kiss.

She blinked, not sure what to do or how to react but she could feel the heat from his body seep through his thin shirt and the gentle way he held her face with his hands. He seemed both hard and soft; touching her like she was something precious and fragile but tensed and ready to move away if needed.

And then… and then it just seemed easier to melt against him, to part her lips and close her eyes and sigh into him, allowing him to surround her.

Ana could sense his relief and he pressed her back against the counter with one hand still cupping her face and the other curled around her hip. At first he kissed her softly, barely putting any pressure on her as if he wanted her to get used to the sensation of his mouth against hers, the slight scratch of his stubble against her skin. He nipped at her lower lip and smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against hers playfully.

But all too soon he pushed forward, deepening the kiss, turning it into something almost anxious, possessive.

She slid her hand around his neck and lightly ran her fingers through the short hair there, wanting to soothe him, comfort him somehow; he suddenly seemed afraid, tightening his hold on her and closing the spaces between them. He poured all of his pent-up frustration and longing into her; she imagined she could feel his _grief_, all the words he'd wanted to say but never got the chance to.

And then she felt his hips push forward and his breath hitch and she froze, thrown off and more than a little startled.

_I can't._

Eames stopped and pulled back far enough so that she could see how red and slick his mouth was and how flushed his cheeks had become. But he looked worried, studying her face with wide, dark eyes.

"Sorry, I…" Ana ducked her head, feeling self-conscious and childish. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'm ready to do anything… more."

Eames' face relaxed and then he huffed out a little laugh before placing a kiss on the side of her mouth.

"Don't apologize, there's nothing to apologize for," he murmured. She could feel his warm breath against her lips and his grip loosened. She sighed, feeling the panic subside. "It's just been so long, too long. I didn't think…"

He stopped and stayed quiet for a moment but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. She knew what he wanted to say but didn't: that he didn't think he'd have another chance. He couldn't see her face so she allowed herself to frown, pressing her cheek against his and closing her eyes.

Ana wasn't sure if this _was_ a second chance or if that was what she wanted at all but she didn't want to say the words. The bright, hot hope that had flared up in his eyes and lightened his entire being… she couldn't find it in herself to take that away from Eames.

And an odd little voice inside her thought-

_He'd never push me away or run._

_Not like Arthur. _

"Come on then," Eames said, pulling back. She opened her eyes and blinked, still clutching a small part of his shirt. He squeezed her arms and then tugged her forward, giving her a sweet, crooked grin. Ana couldn't help but smile back. "I heard that stomach of yours. Let's get you all fed up, fill in some of those ribs, hm?"

He patted her stomach and she laughed, pushing him away lightly. She found she had to force herself to let go of his shirt and he seemed delighted at that, taking her hand again and kissing her fingertips as he did earlier that day.

Ana took a seat, listening to Eames' chatter as he moved about the kitchen again.

_I could be happy here, with Eames, in his home. _

She thought about the clothes in the closet and the books in the library, Eames' paintings and the large, soft-looking bed she'd glimpsed through his open bedroom door.

_I could live here and love and be loved and dream and live and…_

And then she felt a small tendril of apprehension creep into thoughts-

_But what about Arthur?_

###

Arthur scrolled down the screen of his monitor, skimming the second draft of Matt Tremont's unpublished comparative mythology book. He'd gotten a copy sent to him through a contact from the publishing firm that had taken him on as a client. As Arthur expected, the content was brilliant; Matt was a good writer and by all accounts was highly respected in his field.

The book was a series of essays about the symbolism in children's stories and Arthur found himself being drawn in, actually interested in Matt's arguments. Of course many of the old tropes- the hero's journey, the goal of the boon- were touched upon but there was enough innovation, enough new ideas that Arthur could tell would have shaken the old guard a little.

_He was always so passionate about this stuff, _Arthur thought, as he leaned back and closed his tired eyes for a brief break. _He must have been so excited._

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, feeling a deep, heavy sadness weigh on his chest.

_It'll never be finished._

With that thought, Arthur forced himself to sit up despite the ache in his lower back and the sharp pain behind his eyes and continue reading.

He was looking for four specific references.

_The citadel._

_The sanctuary._

_The living obstacle._

_The shadowed throne._

Arthur knew to trust his intuition and the fact that Ana was drawn to those things was noteworthy. She wasn't a natural storyteller like Matt had been nor did she put much weight in symbolism. Even in dreams, Ana had preferred what was obvious and logical over the abstract. Based on her writing though, Matt's work had begun to take on more significance and his world view, the belief that specific words and imagery could represent different things, had colored her own perspective.

If she had Eames paint those exact symbols, then they were important to her. At one point, they had made an impression in her consciousness. And if Eames was going to conjure one of the images in their shared dream then it stood reason the complete set- the citadel, the sanctuary, the living obstacle and the shadowed throne- would all make their appearances as well, unwanted or otherwise.

Arthur felt as if they were opening up a Pandora's Box of problems; symbols, especially ones that had personal attachments, could act as triggers. Conjure one personal symbol and it would likely turn on related ones. Even well-planned dreams couldn't truly account for how a subject would respond to a trigger.

A bank vault could hold secrets or it could contain nightmares. The forge of a lost love could inspire feelings of longing and desire or loss and hopelessness.

It was Arthur's job to expect the unexpected and plan for it. The meaning behind the four paintings, the four _symbols_, were integral to knowing how Ana's unconscious mind would react to their presence. Were they symbols of a positive influence or a negative one? Would the labyrinth lead to understanding or destruction?

Eames was creating the citadel but would Ana's mind turn it into a fairy tale castle or would it transform into the briar patch?

Arthur chewed on his lip as he read through the draft, noting a particular section with concern.

"_The concept of twinship, whether by blood or through spiritual representation, is a complicated one in mythology. They can play several roles: as partners, rivals, opposites, or halves of a whole and they serve to highlight the notions of sameness and difference. In old legends, twins are harbingers of ill fortune since the separation of what should be one whole is a disruption to the usual order of things. _

_Other myths associate twinship with natural forces, either harmful or beneficial (c.f., Mason, The Sun and Moon, 1987) but as complementary powers. And rivalries, the idea of good versus evil, bring about a sense of stability since one simply cannot exist without the other. Twins hold mirrors up to each other and to the rest of world, forcing the exploration of our own inner dualities. In each of us there is a heaven and hell, a demon and an angel, the antagonist and the hero. Twins are the physical embodiment of this idea._

"_It's key to state that in almost every scenario the elimination of one half, removing the influence of one twin, brings about imbalance and ultimately, destruction."_

It was as if he'd been touched by the tip of an icy blade.

Arthur knew that Ana had read Matt's drafts and there was no doubt his words would have resonated with her, especially after his death.

He tapped his fingers on the table and wondered if the same wouldn't hold true within their dream- he'd been thinking of having to deal with two different personalities. Arthur considered an alternative perspective: looking at the warring consciousnesses as two sides of the same coin. If Ana considered herself as part of a set then everything in her life would have been informed with that very basic mindset. The cleaving of the whole would have been akin to having herself torn in two and that would appear somehow in the dream.

_But for every negative force in there, there may be a positive one_, Arthur thought. Of course the opposite would be true as well.

For every dream, there would be a nightmare.

And then something else leapt out at him-

"…_and in the same vein, the sanctuary is the sacred place, a center for either worship or protection. It may be imbued with the holy, though in that sense it loses the connotation of resting place and becomes a shrine to the past: death (perhaps death as the catalyst) or of memory. Also, in this purpose the sanctuary represents safety but not necessarily comfort._

_Take for example the sanctuary in the German tale, the Fox's Cunning Trap. The hero finds the sanctuary of roses (see illustration), but the roses have metaphorical thorns: he may sleep but his sleep is troubled. _

_I should note here that the sanctuary in mythology is not limited to a place. It can also take the form of a person or a thing, such as an animal companion or a treasured object. _

_It is within a sanctuary- again, not simply a place in this context- that faith can be replenished and respite can be taken."_

In the silent stillness of the room, Arthur read on.

**###**

**Please read and review- thanks!**


	25. Chapter 19

**A/N: **…and when I looked up, it was two months later. Sorry about that delay, everyone. Thanks so much for those of you who've left reviews- you keep me going and thinking about this story, even when I'm at work, stressing over emails.

In fact, I've written most of this at work so if there's a mistake let me know. I'll clean this chapter up a bit later today.

A lot happens here. I didn't want to focus too much on the romance stuff- I see this story as more of a mystery/drama fic- but it kind of went in that direction. Let me know what you think! By the next chapter, they'll be getting ready to go into the dream. Fun times ahead, I tell you!

**Chapter 19**

Ana finished reading the sheaf of papers that Arthur put together for them to read and let out the breath she'd been holding. It was a lot to take in; there were passages taken from a draft of her brother's book and Arthur's sharp analysis of each one.

_My brother's thoughts._

She felt an odd mixture of pride and sadness. Her brother was so smart and so clever and it stung to know she would never really know him now. Even if her memories returned, Matthew was gone. She would never again get the chance to talk to him.

She shook her head and frowned, trying to focus on Arthur's point instead of the sudden sense of loss she felt. More than ever, it was not the time to get sidetracked.

_I can read the rest of Matthew's work later,_ she thought and pushed her feelings aside.

Arthur had distilled her brother's writing into simple concise terms, drilling down to the core idea behind each theory. A part of her, the part that wasn't scared of what he was telling them now, was impressed with how quickly he had evaluated her brother's words and what that meant to their job.

She would have been more impressed if there wasn't such a glaring oversight.

"Twins featured heavily in your brother's writing," Arthur said, after a moment. "Being part of a set like that, spending your life as a twin; it was part of the lens through which you saw the world. Dualities, a world of balance… It made you who you are. When Matt died, it became the _only_ way you saw the world. It consumed you."

_Not quite right, but almost. _

Ana could feel both men staring at her as she placed the papers on the counter next to her unfinished dinner and she looked up, first at Eames and then at Arthur.

He had freshened up and was now sitting at the end of the counter, near the entrance to the kitchen. The pale blue shirt he wore was newly pressed and he had shaved and combed his hair back. His face was once again all hard lines and stern angles, and there was no trace of emotion in his dark, clear eyes. His armor was perfectly in place once more.

Arthur was back in control of himself.

He'd come to them as they were having dinner and Ana hadn't wanted to wait to hear what he had to say. Eames had been annoyed but she was glad he hadn't pressed. If Arthur sought them out, if Arthur had come to herafter his confession, then whatever he had to say was important.

_Still_…

She understood how Eames felt. For a moment, just during the brief time they spent alone together in the kitchen, it had been nice to pretend. Ana had almost been able to trick herself into believing they were having a normal dinner, normal conversation- that the stolen kisses and warm smiles, the brush of his hand against her cheek and the sound of his laughter, were part and parcel of their entwined lives.

The need to belong to someone, to have a shared experience, was growing stronger. Ana was beginning to look forward to the future. She was willing to try and carve out a life for herself in the aftermath.

_Focus._

But right now Eames was a distraction; something that pulled her mental focus away from what was really important. The more she was around him, knowing what his lips felt like on hers, knowing how soft the skin just underneath his jaw felt, the less she could think clearly.

"It's why the paintings you had Eames create were so significant- why you remembered them," Arthur went on and if he'd noticed that she drifted off for a second, he didn't mention it. "They were tied to your emotions towards Matt. It's likely there'll be representations of these ideas, these concepts, in the dream. They may not necessarily be in the same form, but they will be there."

Eames snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. He was standing beside Ana and had finished reading far more quickly than she had, murmuring to himself as he did.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Arthur," he said. "Clearly if Ana remembered those paintings, they would appear in her mind in some way. We can speculate all we want now but we'll have to improvise when we go under. We'll simply have to keep our eyes open for how these concepts are interpreted and react accordingly."

"Based on Matt's writing we do have a starting point," Arthur said. He frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Just knowing that they'll appear won't prepare us. If you know it's going to rain, you bring an umbrella- not hope you can outrun the weather."

"I'm not saying we go under without a plan," Eames began testily but Ana shook her head and turned to him.

"Eames, please," she urged him. "Just hear him out."

He closed his mouth with an audible snap. It seemed to take some effort for him to lower his shoulders and relax his stance but when he looked back at her, his mouth quirked up in a small smile.

"Of course, love," he said in a calmer tone. He drew forward, sliding his arm around her waist. He pressed his lips against her temple in a quick kiss before settling beside her.

Blood rushed to her cheeks and Ana forced herself not to jerk back or move away. It took everything she had at that moment to look over and meet Arthur's gaze without flinching. If anyone else were watching, it would have seemed that Arthur barely reacted but she saw the way his mouth tightened. She could see the dawning realization in his eyes.

For a moment, Ana felt angry: at Eames for flaunting her, for using her to get a dig back at Arthur without saying a word. At Arthur for…

_For not reacting. _

_For continuing to pretend._

"You think you know what the representations are going to be, don't you?" she asked. She angled her body towards Arthur and felt Eames' arm tense. "What else did you find in my brother's work? What do you think we'll find in my dream?"

Arthur glanced briefly at Eames- a momentary flicker of triumph crossed over his features- and then nodded back at Ana. "The underlying theme here is twinship, the idea of a dual nature, dual roles. The sanctuary, the obstacle, the throne and the citadel- we have to be prepared to encounter their analogs. After all they're only part of the complete whole, only one side of the concept they embodied.

"For example, a sanctuary is generally known as a resting place but according to your brother, it could also be seen as a place of worship or a shrine. A place where dead things are kept and revered."

Ana shivered involuntarily and Eames tightened his grip around her. Arthur's face hardened as he noted the action but said nothing about it.

He went on. "According to Matt, its counterpart is the battlefield. The living obstacle could mean various things but its equivalent is what Matt called the dead blessing. The shadowed throne and the laughing slave. The citadel and the grave. We might see them as they are in the paintings- a house of flowers, a glass tree, a dark throne and a castle- but they might be embodied by a projection or something completely different."

Arthur sighed heavily. He sounded tired, weary down to his bones.

"But you asked me what I think," he said. He looked down at his hands on the counter. "You didn't play in theory; that was Matt's way. You're literal. You think in concrete terms. So I think the living obstacle will show up as someone you see as a protector, someone alive who you trust. It might be Peter- you were fairly close before he left the FBI. The dead blessing could be either one of your parents- maybe your father or even Matt himself."

Ana stared at Arthur but he kept his head down.

"The sanctuary might be your childhood home and the battlefield is probably where Lewis took you. The throne and the slave…" Arthur trailed off and looked up.

To Ana's surprise, he shrugged.

"Yeah, that one's a mystery," he said with a faint smile. She noted that his dimples didn't appear but his eyes seemed a little clearer.

"And I guess the citadel is the castle that Eames is building and the grave is what it sounds like," Ana said. "Matthew's grave, maybe?"

Arthur nodded. "That's as much as I could figure out but it's a start. I'll do more digging though. I'm sure I missed something- maybe it's in the paintings, some clue that you didn't even know you were leaving behind."

Eames stirred next to her. "You can look in the original sketches too," he said and Ana was relieved that he seemed to be trying to rein himself in. "Ana was heavily involved in the planning process. There are things I left out in the finished product that were in the first drafts."

"Great," Arthur said. He stood up. "I'm going to-"

"Wait, Arthur," Ana said. She stood up and moved away from Eames, trying as gracefully as she could to put some space between them. "Arthur, there's a problem."

Arthur turned around at the door with a frown. "A problem with what?"

"The idea of duality," she said. "It's not… I don't think that's the way we should be thinking about all of this."

She glanced back at Eames, who had walked up behind her, and tried to look apologetic before facing Arthur again. There was no way he wouldn't consider the distance she put between them a sign; Eames watched people too closely to think she'd done so carelessly.

_Too close, too fast, _she thought. _I need space. I need to think._

"What are you talking about?" Arthur said. His frown grew deeper. "Matt wrote all about duality. Twins, Ana- the book was really about your relationship. It was…"

Ana studied his face and she could tell he was struggling to understand where she was trying to lead him.

_You're almost there._

_Not quite right, but almost._

"But that was Matthew's book. _His_ point of view, not mine," she said slowly. "You were right when you said I was literal. I think in concrete details. Things I can see and witness. You see, twinship in itself is a theory. It's an idea."

She held up her hands so that her bandaged palms were facing the ceiling, side by side, as if she were holding something out to Arthur.

"Duality is about balance, right?" she said. "Making sure the scales are even. That's what I got from Matthew's text- that one can have a dual nature that essentially composes a whole. But if we're entering my mind then we need to bring that theory back down to the literal. I think you're on the right track. We'll likely encounter those four main concepts from Eames' paintings, as well as their equivalents but Arthur, you're missing the _obvious_."

"Which is?"

Ana turned her hands up so that her palms were facing each other, a few inches apart.

"It's not about duality," she said. "Duality implies balance and I don't think that was my concern. Remember what I was so afraid of, Arthur? Think about it. Turn the concept of duality on its head, make it literal, make it physical. You get-"

But it was Eames who spoke next; it was Eames who said what Ana understood from the onset.

"A mirror image."

Without really being conscious of it, Ana reached up and touched the locket on her necklace.

**###**

With trembling fingers, Ana took the small chisel and inserted the edge into the opening of the locket, balancing it as best she could on the bathroom counter. She raised the hammer with her other hand and then stopped.

After a moment, she put the hammer back down and drew in a deep but shaky breath.

_A mirror image._

The moment she heard the words, Ana knew with absolute certainty what her totem hid. She had grabbed Eames and begged him for a tool, something that would reveal whatever it was her necklace hid.

To her gratitude, he seemed perfectly willing to wait outside as she forced open her locket. He'd broken the chain using strong clippers from his supplies and for the first time, she'd been able to hold her necklace in her hand and really study the locket.

Ana looked around the counter, hoping to find something ceramic and picked up a soap dish, weighing it in her hand. Carefully, so as not to ruin the locket, she dragged it across the white surface of the dish.

_Likely pure gold, _she thought, looking at the golden streak left behind on the dish. _An heirloom maybe. Carefully maintained over years. _

_M & M_

She stared at the engraving, noting the clean edges, sharp and clear against the soft surface.

_Miranda and Matthew. _

The engraving was a new addition to the locket.

_When did I get this done? Before or… _

_Or after Matthew died?_

She touched the hammer on the counter and picked it up again, curling her fingers around the handle. The chisel was placed back into the small opening but again, Ana hesitated.

She forced herself to breathe again, feeling dizzy and almost faint.

Something inside of her rebelled against opening the locket- like a siren going off in her mind. Even the sensation of holding the necklace in her hand felt wrong. It was a deep and jarring sense that something was amiss in the world around her and Ana was unnerved by it.

_My totem. _

_My link to reality and I'm about to break it._

But now she needed it for proof that they weren't going in the wrong direction. It seemed a small sacrifice to make, to open what couldn't be opened before, so she could make sure that Eames and Arthur were prepared to step into her mind. She felt no regret at breaking the chain but her hands just wouldn't stop shaking.

"Ana?"

Eames' voice outside the door was muffled but she could hear the concern in his tone. It was enough to help her steady her hands and she adjusted her stance, bending slightly at the waist to get better traction.

And, truth be told, she didn't want to look at herself in the mirror above the counter space.

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," she called out.

"If you need me …"

Ana smiled to herself. His voice, knowing that he was just outside the door, ready to help was reassuring. Eames seemed perfectly willing to dive back into the former nature of their relationship and his presence was so solid, so undeniable, it was overwhelming.

_He could be my new life._

But she knew that meant there was no place for Arthur. It was one or the other, full stop. They could hold it together for jobs, for relatively short periods of time, yes. Eames and Arthur were professionals, after all.

But beyond dreams?

Perhaps Arthur would have accepted Eames' presence. Though he may have seemed inflexible, he was fairly agreeable and far more easy-going than he let on. But Eames would never tolerate Arthur having a major role in her life. Not when he likely suspected how she'd felt-

_Loved. I loved Arthur._

-about the other man.

But then again, Eames had been the one to offer her a future in the first place. And it was so important, _essential_ to Ana that she have a future. With no past, she had nothing else.

_If Arthur were to say something, anything about the day after tomorrow, I…_

"Still wouldn't know," she said out loud. "You still wouldn't know what to do so stop thinking about the wrong things and focus!"

"Alright in there?" She heard Eames knock once on the door and Ana jerked a little, startled.

"Perfect," she said.

Without further delay, Ana lifted the hammer and brought it down on the chisel.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

The locket broke apart and she let the pieces fall to the counter, putting the hammer down beside them.

_I was right, _she thought as she stared at what was left of her totem.

"Matthew and Miranda," she muttered. "Mirror images. Turned backwards and over like negatives."

_Boy. Girl._

_Dead. Alive._

_Word. Deed._

She reached down and touched her broken locket. There were no pictures, no smiling faces or happy memories. Instead she'd kept her greatest fear wrapped around her neck without a working clasp, close to her chest.

Her locket had held two small mirrors that faced each other when closed-

"_I'd find you looking at your reflection sometimes as if you didn't recognize yourself."_

"_I think you were trying to find what was hiding behind your own face."_

-and now the mirrors were shattered.

**###**

"That was a stupid thing you did, you know. Destroying your totem like that."

At the sound of Arthur's voice at the doorway of her bedroom, Ana tugged the sleeves of her pajama top over her hands like a child and looked down at her bare feet. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the wardrobe.

"I wanted to prove I was right," she said, curling her toes against the cold floor. "We're dealing with opposites, not counterparts. It's a minor distinction but important."

"I know," Arthur said. "But it was a dumb move. We didn't need proof like that- I already believed you."

"Did you?" Ana said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Arthur smiled mirthlessly. He had rolled his sleeves up again and his bare forearms flexed as he pushed himself off the door frame he'd been leaning on and walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind him.

After breaking her totem, she'd shown Eames and Arthur what lay inside and they'd gone back to the studio to work out a viable plan while in the dream.

At least, that's what Ana thought they did.

She'd been sent away, albeit gently, because they couldn't have her know the parameters of the dream. Though she was a willing subject, they still couldn't risk her projections cutting the dream short. Arthur would be trapped in the deepest level of her mind if that happened, not to mention the threat of splitting her consciousness apart at its core.

The truth was that Ana was more afraid of the former than the latter. She could accept the repercussions for herself, but not for Arthur. She would arm him with everything she could, every certainty she could give him, to make sure of it.

_Except for calling it all off. I can't do that, even for him. _

So she'd spent the last few hours back in the library, reading bits and pieces from Eames' treasure trove of books. But now it was late and Ana's eyes felt raw. Though she'd taken a nap earlier, she needed rest and had just finished getting ready for bed when Arthur appeared.

"You know I believed you," Arthur said. "I always do."

"Then I needed to prove it to myself," Ana said. She shrugged one shoulder. "Besides, my totem meant nothing really. I'll find something else in the morning or not, it doesn't matter."

"It _does _matter. I don't want you losing your grip on reality, I've seen it happen before," he said. For a brief moment, Arthur looked annoyed but then his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. "But what's done is done. There's nothing else for it."

He sat down on the bed beside her and then passed his hand over his face. "Christ, Ana, are you sure you want this? _Are you_ _sure_? The risks outweigh the rewards- you have to realize this by now."

"I don't want you or Eames to get hurt," Ana said, turning towards him. "But I want to try at the very least. If I can remember one thing about my family, about my brother, it will have been worth it. And then I'll move on, I swear. But I can't do it without you."

Arthur leaned his elbows on his knees and raised his head. She could see the ends of his hair curling against the nape of his neck, coming loose from the gel he'd used to tame them.

"I was seventeen when I finally learned how to say no to you for the first time," he said. "You had me wrapped around your little finger for years. Even now, saying no to you is hard so why do you think I'd back out now?"

"I know you won't. You're a man of your word," Ana said. She felt warm and her heart seemed to beat a little harder. "Arthur, the gentleman. Always willing to help a lady in need."

He smiled. It was a little rueful, a little resigned, but sweet. It was a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes.

"Sure, if that's what you want to believe," he said. "But the simplest explanation is that I would do almost anything you asked me to because I love you."

She blinked in surprise, suddenly wide awake.

"You just…" But she couldn't finish her thought, didn't know how to respond to such a casually dropped bomb.

"I wasn't entirely truthful when I said I came to you for dream-share because I knew you wanted more out of life," he said with an even, steady voice, as if he hadn't just tipped her world off its axis. "That was part of it. But the truth, the real truth of it was that I just wanted to be with you again. I denied myself for years but a man's gotta give in sometimes, right?

"But then I fucked up. Got you into messes I should have been able to avoid. And I was a coward."

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and then chuckled sadly. "That's all I came here to say really. Just that I can't believe you broke your goddamn totem to make a point. And that I love you. I probably always will."

She laughed almost helplessly, knowing she sounded almost hysterical but she couldn't help it.

"Was that the first time you've said that to me?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "First time I've said it to your face. Long overdue, though. Sorry."

"So why now?" Ana asked. "I mean..."

"I'm a realist, or at least I'd like to think so. I can see the writing on the wall," Arthur said. "I just might not get the chance later, that's all. You and Eames- I've made my peace with it. But I thought I should just say it out loud, once and for all."

That snapped Ana out of her shock.

"I'm not _with_ Eames," Ana said firmly. "God, it's been three days? Four? How can you expect… Arthur, look at me."

She turned and drew one leg up on the bed so she could face him fully. He sat up and turned towards her with a grim set to his features.

"I kissed him," she said. She looked into his eyes, trying to make him understand. "He kissed me. That's all. I haven't planned my life out beyond tomorrow."

"I know that, I just meant-" Arthur stopped and then smiled, self-conscious. He seemed younger then, almost boyish. "I don't want there to be any confusion about where I stand."

"You keep getting me wrong, Arthur," she said. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You know me so well but when it comes to how I feel, what I want, you just keep getting me wrong. I wish you'd stop letting fear cloud your perspective. I wish you could look at me and see just me."

"That's never been a problem," Arthur said. He ducked his head like a grown man suddenly turned into a child, making Ana shake her head at him.

"Then listen to me. Don't just hear my voice, really _listen_ this time."

Arthur nodded, his eyes widening slightly as he raised his head to look at her again. He looked so serious and solemn at that moment that Ana couldn't help but sigh. She slid her hand down his arm, taking his hand in hers and holding on as best she could.

"Nothing is set in stone. I honestly don't know how I feel about Eames or you. It's all mixed up and I need some time to sort it all out. I don't know what my future looks like but, Arthur, I know I want you there with me. No matter what happens, I need you there with me."

She shifted closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body.

"Eames isn't shy about what he wants," she said. "But I need you to tell me what you want. Arthur, tell me what _you_ want."

Arthur seemed to hesitate and she could see the conflict in his eyes, in the way his brow wrinkled and mouth turned down.

"Be selfish," she said. "For once, _please_. Just be selfish."

"I want you to be safe," Arthur said quietly. He turned away again, staring at the wall across the way. "I want to turn back time and keep Matt away from what happened. I want you to get your memories back without hating me. I want you to be happy."

She waited for more but as the silence grew longer, heavier, she realized it was all he was going to admit to.

_That's it then. _

_He'll never give in. _

Disappointed but not surprised, Ana nodded. She swallowed down her frustration and decided to accept Arthur's words for what they were.

_It's enough. _

She bent forward with her chin on his shoulder, putting her arm on his lap and circling his waist so that she was practically leaning on him to stay upright. Despite his long, lean frame, Arthur was sturdy and strong- he was solid and warm in her arms and Ana thought-

_You can be my rock. _

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his jaw, and took in a deep breath, taking in his familiar, comforting scent.

_This can be enough. _

_I won't push for more than you can give._

"Okay, Arthur," she said dejectedly. She just couldn't help but be _sad_. He loved her… but the words were all he could offer and she would take it for the gift it was. "I don't know why you don't see how good you are but you deserve-"

"I want a chance."

For a moment, the words didn't make sense. Ana opened her eyes and sat up, drawing back a little but then his hand gripped her arm, keeping her in place so that she had to stay pressed against him. He looked back at her, earnest and open, and she could feel the shift of his muscles as he moved.

"I want _my_ chance," he repeated. He looked small and uncertain as he spoke next. "If you'll have me."

_Thank you, Arthur._

Without saying a word, Ana leaned forward and placed a small, shy kiss against the corner of his mouth; she was afraid that he would change his mind and leave her again or push her away, but he didn't. Instead he let out a breath and then turned, tilting his head so that he could brush his lips against her cheek.

She shivered at the sensation, at the barely-there touch of an almost-kiss, and then she felt his mouth slide over hers.

It was slow and gentle, maddeningly so, the way he kissed her.

Her heart beat a swift hummingbird's pace in her chest as he let go of her arm and reached up to run his fingertips over the side of her face. She shivered again as she felt him, sweet and warm and _perfect_, sucking gently on her lip and she made a small noise of pleasure when he pulled her closer.

The room seemed to grow smaller, so much so that Ana felt as if she were surrounded by Arthur. She could smell him, taste him, hear him and Ana wanted nothing more to be lost in him.

She wanted _more_. But all too soon though, Arthur leaned back, shifting slightly so that he could look down at her face.

"You should get some rest," he said.

Ana blinked.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, incredulously. "Rest is the last thing I-"

He pressed his finger against her lips and she fell silent, seeing the heat in his dark eyes and the flush in his cheeks. His breath was slightly ragged and she could feel his other hand at the small of her back, aware of his palm against her bare skin, right above the waistband of her shorts.

_He's just as undone as I am, _she thought with some satisfaction.

"You need to get some sleep," he said. His voice was hoarse and low as he traced her bottom lip with the tip of his finger. "And I need to finish up with Eames. If I don't leave now, I don't think I'll be able to later."

"Okay. You should go," Ana said.

Arthur sat still for a moment and she knew he didn't want to leave. It made her smile to see the expression on his face and know what he was feeling.

She reached up and cupped the sides of his face, running her thumbs over his dimples. "You're not getting up."

"You're making it very difficult for me to leave," he said, his smile growing wider.

Ana pressed her lips against his in a quick kiss before shifting backwards, letting him go completely. Arthur huffed out a small laugh and then sat up, straightening his shirt. When he got to his feet, he smoothed down his pants and glanced at the door.

Slowly, she could see him rebuilding his walls, brick by brick. He looked like a man readying himself for a fight and it made her chest hurt, knowing that he saw Eames as a threat.

_Because he is, _Ana thought.

She looked down at her hands, at the bandages on her palms and pressed her lips together. She would have to make a choice eventually and she wondered what she would have done before, if Matthew hadn't died. If Eames and Arthur had stayed in her life.

_Which one would I have chosen? _

"Eames is planning to pick Yusuf up at around nine tomorrow morning," Arthur said. "But we don't have to go under until you're ready. If you want to sleep in…"

"No," Ana said. "I want to get it over with. I don't want to wait."

"Then we won't wait," Arthur said softly, "if that's what you want."

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek before moving away again. "Sleep now," he said. "We'll be in the studio if you need anything."

The door closed behind her but Ana didn't move. She stared at the space where Arthur had been, suddenly feeling empty and cold.

**###**

**Please read and review- thanks!**


	26. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Warning- this is totally NOT looked over carefully. I had half the chapter sitting on my drive for weeks before I finally thought, 'screw this, I just need to finish and post.' So please forgive the mistakes you come across. I'll look over this again tomorrow night and fix all the issues I find.

In the meantime, I looked over the reviews and whoa- THANK YOU to everyone who's dropped by and a double, triple, quadruple thank you to those of you who have left reviews. I know it's a time suck to leave a review so I do appreciate every single word of feedback I get. Long or short, I thank you.

And to Goldspleen and Gryfen- your extra-long reviews made me squeal. Seriously, I read both of yours on the bus and I'm sure people were wondering why I was smiling to myself.

**Chapter 20**

_I can't wait to see you again, Arthur. Trust me when I say that._

_Only, may I offer a word of caution, from one old friend to another?_

_Do you know about the gates of horn and ivory? One leads to true dreams and the other leads to false. What was it that Virgil wrote? _

"_Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn_

_Of polish'd ivory this, that of transparent horn."_

_Horn and ivory look awfully alike. You can even say that one is a reflection of the other and believe you me, it's so very difficult to tell one apart from the other. They seem identical, so close, that you could easily mistake one for the other. _

_Just a little something for you to consider._

**###**

Ana woke up with a startled cry and she sat up, ready for a fight.

"It's alright, you're okay," Arthur said in a low, soothing tone. He was holding his hands up in surrender, half-kneeling, half-standing on the edge of her bed. He looked down at her with wide eyes that would have been comical if not for the adrenaline rushing through her body. "It's just me."

She clasped her hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound at a dizzying beat and made a face.

"Did you have to shake me awake?" Ana said, gasping. She swallowed and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "God, Arthur, I thought it was an earthquake!"

"You're a heavy sleeper," Arthur said, raising his eyebrows. "It _would_ take an earthquake to wake you up."

He lowered his hands and stood up, his mouth twisting wryly. "Eames just left to go pick up Yusuf. He should be back in an hour or so, unless they make a stop. I thought you'd want to be up before then."

"Thank you," she muttered sarcastically, and she rubbed her eyes before peering at him blearily. He was fully armored in dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, tie and gray waistcoat; she thought that it was the most formal she'd seen him…

And _yet_.

Ana catalogued the little details that gave him away. The faded traces of ink on the side of his hand and fingertips, the raw, pink skin of his cheeks and the fine spots of water on his collar that he missed while shaving this morning- if he had slept, he would have shaved _and then_ gotten dressed but it was obvious that had come as an afterthought- and the stiff way he held himself on the left side. His hip was hurting him and it was obvious he hadn't done anything to alleviate the ache.

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you stay up all night?"

Arthur's expression didn't change but she could sense the subtle shift in his body, from relaxed to tense, and Ana kicked the blankets off, swinging her legs over the side as he stepped back.

"I can make breakfast," he said, not answering her question. "But in the meantime, we have pots of tea and coffee. You should eat before they get back."

"So that would be a yes," Ana said. She rubbed her arms and shivered slightly now that she was out from under the cozy warmth of her bed. Her skin prickled and she stood up, sliding her feet into her slippers.

Arthur took another step back and she could see the quick way he assessed her, gaze moving quickly up and down and then to the side. Except it wasn't purely objective; his cheeks turned a faint pink and Ana had to force herself not to smile. She wasn't wearing much, really- just a shirt and a small pair of shorts she'd scrounged up from Eames' wardrobe. Though it had been a careless choice, it was amusing to see Arthur affected.

"Well, sometimes the answers aren't what we want to hear," he said, turning towards the door. "I'm sure you want to get dressed. I'll meet you in the kitchen and then we can talk about-"

"Arthur."

He stopped and faced her again, looking oddly nervous and on edge. In the soft light of morning peeking through her curtains, his face looked sharp and foxlike but his eyes were bright and…

_Hopeful._

"About last night…" she trailed off and then took a deep breath, trying to seem braver than she felt. "I haven't forgotten what happened. And I'm glad it happened."

For a moment, Arthur looked surprised and then he smiled, relief blooming over his features. He seemed to lose some of the edge then and his entire demeanor relaxed.

"Me too," he said. For a moment, he stood there and she could sense the indecision in him, the way he _almost_ took a step towards her, but was stopped by some internal debate.

_Oh, Arthur._

It was a fond thought and Ana felt all of the panic from waking dissipate like fog in the sun.

Taking pity on him, she laughed and said, "I want oatmeal and toast, since you so kindly offered to feed me. And jam. Now get out, I need to take a shower. Not everyone can look as good as you first thing in the morning."

Arthur grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am," he said, in mock seriousness and to her delight he saluted sharply, before gracefully turning on his heel and making his way out of her room.

For a moment, the sight of him lingered in her mind. The straight line of his narrow shoulders, the way he turned from his waist without wincing, the way he ducked his head whenever he was about smile but fighting it.

Feeling warmer than she had a moment ago, Ana started to get ready for the day.

###

Ana had hoped for some time alone with Arthur- during breakfast maybe, before Eames and Yusuf arrived, but they had come back within the hour. Arthur and Eames had gone back to the studio, leaving Ana alone with Yusuf in the kitchen to finish her breakfast.

He'd set up what looked to be a mini chemistry set- a small hot plate and various containers littered Eames' counter and he seemed intent on watching different colored liquids in a few beakers.

It was clear he knew what he was doing; he moved with the quick, confident motions of someone accustomed to working with chemicals. He seemed almost careless but his fingers were steady and his eyes were clear and intent.

She sat quiet and still on her stool a few feet away, studying him as he worked, cataloging the stretched cuffs of his sweater and the linen pants he wore. His hair was a riot of soft-looking curls but neat and kept away from his eyes.

_Lives in a warmer climate, _she thought as she absentmindedly stirred her oatmeal, _but works in cool conditions. Pushes his sweater up a lot. Probably takes it off completely when he leaves his lab._

_A makeshift lab though, otherwise he wouldn't have holes in his shirt or discolored shoes._

_Owns two cats. _

_Smart. Clever. Educated._

Ana thought back to when they'd been introduced and thought-

_Spent some time in the same region as Eames. The same roll to the "r" and elongated vowel sounds. _

_Not just chemistry, he studied-_

"I think if you look at me any harder, you'll burn a hole through my skull."

Ana was jolted out of her thoughts but she managed not to spill any of her breakfast. She looked at Yusuf calmly. He was staring back at her with a half smile- a _real_ smile- but with a sharp gaze. She realized then that he'd been watching her as closely as she'd been watching him.

"I'm sorry," she said. Yusuf raised an eyebrow and she smiled back at him. "Would you rather I not apologize?"

"Eames told me a bit about you," he said. "I suppose I'm just curious as to whether or not what he said was true."

_We've never met._ But that was obvious from the beginning. He hadn't greeted her with the cautious familiarity of an old friend or enemy, but it was nice to have confirmation.

"What did Eames say about me?"

Yusuf stared at her for a beat longer before shrugging and turning back to his work. "That you were frighteningly observant."

"I'm sure that's all he said," she said evenly as Yusuf stirred something in a glass container. "Are you going to take my blood now or did you want to go through more small talk?"

At that, Yusuf looked startled. "He didn't mention you were a mind reader. Now that is a handy talent to have. How in the world did you-"

"You've been eyeing my arm and then looking at the syringe in your packet over there," Ana said, putting her bowl down. "It's not hard to track that chain of thought. Arthur trusts you though so I'm going to act in good faith here. I'm assuming this has something to do with the drugs you're planning to give me?"

Yusuf looked amused and reached out for his tools, laying them out on the counter in front of her before motioning for Ana to roll up her sleeves.

"I want to make sure that the blend we'll be using today won't have any adverse affects on you," he said. "It shouldn't. I checked back in Paris, but I like to be thorough. What you allowed into your system was an experimental formula, very risky. You were either brave or-"

"Or stupid," Ana finished for him. She pushed her sleeve up and held her arm out to him. "I've heard it said already."

Yusuf shook his head, putting on a pair of rubber gloves. She was surprised at how gentle his hands were; he turned her arm over so that the underside of her forearm faced up.

"I wasn't going to say stupid," he said, examining her skin. He tapped the inside of her elbow a few times before nodding to himself. "You are clearly far from stupid. If Arthur and Eames worked with you, then it's a given that you were careful, not given to rash or thoughtless behavior. I meant _desperate_."

"That's quite an assumption," Ana said, staring at his face intently. She didn't think he meant it as a slight, just as a given fact, but she still bristled inside.

Yusuf frowned, sensing her mood and looked up. He seemed on the verge of saying something, perhaps to apologize, but instead he closed his mouth and tied a tourniquet a few inches from her antecubital fossa, before tapping her arm again.

He quickly swabbed down her skin and within minutes was filling a small vial from her vein. Ana watched the tube and drew in a breath, feeling on edge at the sight of her blood.

"Won't my breakfast affect the results?" she asked. She forced herself to look back at Yusuf's face.

"Not for my tests," he said. "It's not as if I have a baseline to compare against and I'm not testing for blood sugar or cholesterol levels. What I'm looking for is a reaction to the formula you and Eames will be using."

"Why is Arthur using something else?" Ana knew her voice sounded sharp but she didn't care.

Yusuf untied the tourniquet from her arm with one hand and quickly but gently removed the needle, pushing down a clean piece of gauze over the puncture site. After putting a plaster over the gauze, he capped the syringe and tilted his head to the side, looking back at her shrewdly.

"Arthur will be using a version with a strong sedative," he said. He looked up and raised an eyebrow at her. "You do understand the risk associated with this undertaking."

And she did, she really did. Arthur and Eames had explained it to her but for some reason the reality of the situation was suddenly more apparent knowing that Arthur was going to put something different in his veins. On top of whatever else could go wrong in her mind, he would be set apart from them even more.

_He's doing all of this for me,_ she thought and it made her stomach churn. She regretted eating breakfast.

"He'll be fine," Yusuf said, watching her face closely. "He's used more volatile Somnacin knock offs in the past. My formulas will work as they're designed to and I've already tested the blend with Arthur."

"But the deeper the sedative, the more risk, right?" she asked. "Limbo is as deep as you can go."

Yusuf nodded and then took a step back towards his makeshift work area. "I'll make sure he gets down there safely. How he gets out is up to him."

_Or me._

"How much is he paying you for this?" Ana asked. Yusuf looked back at her questioningly. She lifted her chin and stared hard at him. "Your equipment is expensive. The quality of the glass alone probably cost a small fortune, but you've had that shirt for years and your shoes are worn down to the sole. You're not a poor man, Yusuf, but you use your money in very specific ways."

Yusuf leaned against the counter and motioned for her to continue. Instead of looking offended, he looked intrigued.

"You're very good at what you do, otherwise you wouldn't be here. He trusts you to put us under but you charge premium rates so you can buy better gear. You know he doesn't like you but you still came."

Ana narrowed her eyes. "You still came," she said softly, "because you knew you could ask for any price. And you knew that Arthur would pay it."

"Money is a very strong motivator," Yusuf said lightly. "But it's not my only-"

"Oh, and you're curious," she said before he could finish. "You have a degree in Pharmacology. People alone don't interest you. Neither do chemicals, really. No, too simple, right? But you like watching the way they interact. This is a challenge for you. A puzzle suited perfectly for your interests."

"Those are all very true things," he said. He went back to his set up and began to work again. "And Eames was too right about you- except he did also say that you tended to miss the forest for the trees. Shame that, really."

Ana blinked. "If it's all true then what did I get wrong?"

"If Arthur had been the one to ask me here, I would have charged him the moon," Yusuf said simply. He paused, looking up from his work. His face was serious now and his mouth was tilted down in a slight frown. "But he isn't paying me for my services here today."

As Yusuf stared at her, she realized the point he was making and she looked away, feeling uncomfortable and overexposed. She'd given herself away, too caught up in picking at Yusuf and gauging his reactions to see the truth of the matter. She approached it all with Arthur in mind and that had been a mistake. She'd forgotten: Arthur had called Cobb and-

_Eames called Yusuf. _

"Eames is a friend," Yusuf said. "But you mentioned Arthur didn't like me. I wonder how much of our history he's told you about."

Ana let out a huff. "Nothing. He didn't tell me anything about you, aside from the fact you were a chemist. Neither did Eames."

Yusuf's brow wrinkled in thought. "It's obvious you're not at all worried about me but I am curious as to why you're at ease knowing that Arthur doesn't like me."

"Because, like I said earlier, he trusts you," Ana said, getting to her feet. She could see Yusuf's confusion deepen.

"I may be skilled," Yusuf said, "but he could have found chemists that were closer and cheaper. Why do you think he trusts me?"

"You can't see the trees for the forest, Yusuf," she said. She walked towards the door, wanting to see how Arthur and Eames were doing and feeling anxious to get started already. "It's really quite obvious, isn't it?

"I know he trusts you because he left me here alone with you."

###

Afterwards, things moved so quickly it was almost a blur.

Eames and Arthur had been cagey, to say the least. It seemed she was no longer allowed into the studio and the brief glimpse inside she'd been afforded before she had been gently but firmly ushered out _again_ revealed diagrams posted up all over the walls.

Ana thought that she'd have more time to herself then, more time to contemplate the task at hand, more time to go through her belongings again but it only took half an hour or so before everything was ready.

They were set up in the living room, one of the few rooms she hadn't been to and she tried to concentrate, to focus on the rich colors of the furniture, the pattern of the rug on the floor-

_He doesn't use this room much because the floor is cherry wood and it isn't scuffed up or marked._

-and the chandelier with the fired bronze arms and crystal beads. At first glance, it was an elegant room- the most ornate that Ana had seen so far but it lacked personality. The oil paintings were bland though old and expensive-

_That Inness has to be a reproduction but it looks authentic._

-and while everything gave off a sense of old money, it gave Ana the sense of a stage setting. An artfully crafted illusion.

_This is where Eames keeps people he doesn't like, if he has to bring them here, _she thought, _this has nothing of him, it feels fake, it feels-_

"Okay there, Ana?"

Ana nearly jumped out of her seat and she gritted her teeth, angry at how jumpy she was being. She took in a deep breath and looked up at Eames, who was kneeling beside her on the loveseat.

He looked at her curiously as she rubbed her forehead, feeling a cold sweat begin to break out all over her body.

"You're scared," he said after a moment.

Ana glanced at the open silver case that lay on the center table. She'd been trying to avoid the sight since they came into the room but now, with Arthur and Yusuf talking quietly just outside the hallway and only Eames to distract her, she could no longer escape it.

"Yeah," she said, looking back at Eames. His face was cast in shadows in the dim light of the room- all the curtains had been closed, ostensibly to keep them safe from curious neighbors. "It's just… now that it's time, I'm-"

_Unsure. _

_Terrified. _

She felt Eames' fingers curl around hers and she looked down at their joined hands on her lap. His hand was tan, made even more so against the white bandage that wrapped around her palm.

"It's only natural," he said soothingly. "But we've come this far, pet. There's just one last step to take."

"What if this is the wrong thing to do?" she asked, raising her eyes. The loveseat was low enough so that they were nearly at eye level, even though he was on his knees. "What if… What if this really is a trap that I set? What if Arthur was right and I've done this terrible thing and-"

"Then we go into it together," Eames said simply. "Eyes wide open."

This close, he looked as tired as Arthur. Unlike the other man, he hadn't shaved and she could see the stubble on his cheeks. It reminded her of the first time she saw his face, that cultivated look of an eccentric ex-pat. But now she knew him, now she knew who he was to her.

_Now I know how important the both of you are to me. _

Dread layered on top of fear made her pull her hand away and sit back. She glanced up at the door where she could see the shadows cast by Yusuf and Arthur against the far wall.

"You did something," Eames said. She turned back to him and he reached up and touched the side of her face, near her temple. "Up here, in your mind. Things that happen in dreams can't be fixed outside of them. You locked a door deep down inside yourself- there's nothing we can do out here to unlock it. So this is the only way. It's alright, being scared, but remember what we told you. What I told you."

Ana nodded, thinking back to the day before. "When Yusuf presses the button, I'll go to sleep. It won't hurt. It won't feel like anything. And when I open my eyes. I need to-"

"Think about me," Eames said, with a crooked grin and lowered his arm.

Ana let out a surprised laugh.

"I think the instructions were to relax and let my feet guide me to you or Arthur," Ana said. Eames chuckled and shook his head. "That I'll know instinctively where to find you because my mind will automatically seek out the-"

"No, sod those instructions," Eames said. "Think of me and you'll find me. Just like that, you'll know exactly where to find me if you aren't already by my side when we open our eyes. Remember, location isn't just a place in dreams, it can also be-"

"A person," Ana said. She smiled back at him, feeling a little more settled. It might have all been garbage but somehow, she felt better.

"That's right," Eames said firmly. "Just keep using your clever brain, no matter what happens, and you'll be fine."

Ana swallowed and nodded. She heard a shuffle and looked up as Arthur and Yusuf entered the room.

Arthur met her eyes and smiled slightly, but she could see the way his gaze flickered down at Eames.

"It's time," he said. He bent down and began to roll out an IV from the PASIV as Yusuf checked the vials. "Eames, we'll set you up first so that Ana knows what to expect. I'll take care of Ana and then Yusuf will plug me in. We have should have enough time in the first level to find the code."

Ana knew time was different in a dream. Even a few hours could last weeks, depending on the strength of the formula or the number of levels.

_Eternity could take place in a heart beat, in a breath, in the blink of an eye._

Ana felt her stomach roil.

_Arthur will be down in Limbo._

_What if he-_

Ana watched quietly as Arthur knelt by Eames' side and deftly inserted the IV into his arm. When he was done, he stood up and walked towards Ana with another IV.

"You don't have to do this," Arthur said softly. His face was serious, almost grim. "We can stop right now. No one is forcing you to do this."

Ana felt her heart speed up and the calm from only a moment ago shattered.

"I…" she trailed off, feeling a rising panic bubble up in her chest and surge up towards her throat… But then she looked over at Eames who lay on the couch beside her.

He nodded at her with a wry smile. He said, "Remember. Sod the instructions, love,"

And just like that, Ana felt in control of herself again.

_There's no other way._

_I can do this. _

_Because there's no other way._

She sat up and twisted around so that she was on the loveseat lengthwise and angled her arm so that Arthur had easy access.

Without a word, Arthur knelt down and carefully prepped her arm for the IV. She stared up at the chandelier, at the odd little patterns of light they cast over the room, as he worked and she bit down on her bottom lip when she felt the needle pierce her skin.

She looked up at Arthur's face when she felt him brush her hair back from her brow.

"It'll be okay, Arthur," she said, trying to infuse confidence that she didn't feel in her voice. "You and Eames are experts. We have to try just this once, right?"

Arthur said nothing for a while as he stroked her hair.

"Arthur?" she said finally. She heard a tremble in her voice but she ignored it because Arthur's face was…

He looked as if…

_He's scared too._

"Everything will be fine, Ana," he said, drawing back. He brushed his fingertips against her cheek and smiled slightly before standing up. "We'll be fine."

Ana nodded and then leaned back again, staring up once more. She heard Arthur and Yusuf moving around, and then Yusuf was standing over the PASIV, a blur in her periphery.

"Get ready," he said.

The hiss of the button being depressed was loud and almost shocking in the still quiet of the room and then she felt something cold run through her veins.

For a moment, for less time than it took to take a breath, Ana wanted to sit up and pull the IV out of her arm. She wanted to tell Yusuf to stop, to tell Eames she wasn't brave or clever or whatever he thought she was. She wanted to tell Arthur he didn't have to take the risk, that she'd be fine not knowing, never knowing-

But then almost against her will, Ana closed her eyes.

**###**

**Please read and review- thanks!**


	27. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Slowly but surely! I was actually out of the country on an extended work trip and quite honestly, this story slipped my mind. I'm sorry for the wait and thank you for your patience. I'm still working on this and finishing up my TDKR fic, In the Darkness Bind Them, but it is slow going. Just trying to get over the holidays and uh, unpacking. Seriously, I have months' worth of clothing and shoes and junk to deal with but I keep putting it off because… it's a mess.

Anyway, on to the story!

**Chapter 21**

When she opened her eyes, Ana found herself standing in a long corridor.

She looked around slowly, taking in her surroundings. The walls were made of smooth, gray stone and a rich, dark red carpet lined the floor. Tall, thick candles, impaled on iron spikes on the walls, lit the way.

_This is a dream,_ she thought. _It's not real. And yet-_

Everything looked solid and felt so _real_. Ana looked behind her and saw an entry to another hallway at the far end. Before her seemed an endless line of doors.

She was alone.

"Arthur?" Her voice didn't echo and she frowned at that. The carpet wouldn't have damped the sound too much, considering the length and breadth of the hall. "Eames?"

No one answered.

Ana took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm, to stay _focused._ There were no details, nothing that gave itself away to her. There were no fraying threads or worn places on the carpet, no heat or wax drippings from the candles that could tell her how long they'd been burning, no cracks in the walls where a stray draft would tell her which way was out.

_The candles and their holders are medieval in design, but the carpet is modern. The walls are too smooth, too perfect, too complete…_

It was a confusing mix of old and new design and Ana felt off balance, unsure of what her senses were telling her, of what her eyes were seeing.

She looked down at herself and ran her palms over her clothes. She had on the same black sweater and blue skirt she'd been wearing before she entered the dream and…

_Oh._

Ana examined her hands. Her palms were wrapped up in gauze and underneath she could feel the familiar pull of stitches. It was odd to see her wounds; she'd figured they would disappear in the dream.

_I guess they're a part of me, even here, _she thought, frowning. For a moment she considered changing her hands, willing the flesh to knit together and heal…

_And if something goes wrong? _

That brought Ana up short and she pushed away her curiosity. Without Arthur or Eames, she wasn't willing to tamper with the structure of the dream- at least intentionally.

She lowered her hands and looked up again, frowning at the empty space before her.

What had they told her the night before?

What did Arthur say?

_You might wake somewhere else, away from us. But because you know you're dreaming, you'll be aware of me and Eames in your mind. A part of you will be conscious of our presence. _

_All you have to do is reach out for one of us. It will be instinctive; you'll know where we are._

It had seemed ridiculous then and Ana remembered being puzzled at the vague instructions but now they were the only things she had in this vacuum of details.

_"Just keep using your clever brain, no matter what happens, and you'll be fine." _

Ana scanned the corridor again. She kept hoping for something, some trick of Eames' mind that would lead her to him or Arthur but there was nothing.

_Do I just want them? Do I just tap into the desire not to be alone, do I just…_

_Arthur?_

_Eames?_

_I don't want to be alone._

Ana began to walk.

###

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but Ana kept walking.

She didn't feel tired or hungry or thirsty, but the longer she walked, the more she felt as if she were going in circles.

She was _afraid_, she could admit it to herself now. Fear was what made her keep walking, kept her from trying any one of the doors that she walked past. It wasn't simply the silence that scared her, nor the fact that she was alone. No- it was the lack of _everything_ that unsettled her.

In the real world there would be signs, clues that would catch her attention and direct her thoughts. But the hallways she walked through were all the same. Left, right, right, left, left… no matter what direction she went down, everything was the same.

_I'm lost._

_I'll never get out of here._

_I'll be trapped here forever and ever and-_

"Pull yourself together."

Ana stopped walking and pressed her hands against her eyes. For a moment, all she could hear was her own shaky breath and she forced herself to slow down, to breathe in, hold, and then exhale slowly.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

She did it until she felt a little more grounded.

"Okay," she said out loud, opening her eyes, "Okay. It's a maze. Eames created a maze. And mazes are just puzzles. Puzzles have solutions."

The sound of her voice seemed to help clear away the last of the fear-induced haze and she nodded absently to herself.

"Puzzles have solutions," she said again. She stared at the candles, at the barely flickering flames, and straightened, thinking. "Solutions hinge on a key. So there's something I'm missing. Not seeing."

"What do I know?" she asked herself. "Start at the beginning."

_I'm in the castle, alone. _

"I know I'm inside because Eames didn't create any other buildings," she said. "I'm assuming I'm already inside the castle. Without windows, without signs, I can't know for sure but I'm willing to take that as fact."

_I know I'm alone because-_

"Because I haven't run into anyone else, so far," she said. She sighed and looked away from the flames. "No projections yet."

_I'm in a maze._

"No matter what I do, every hallway I walk down is the same." Ana looked behind her and then turned ahead again. "The doors all look alike. The carpet is flawless, it's the exact same carpet no matter where I turn and the candles are-"

_Wait._

_Not the same._

Ana narrowed her eyes and stared at the candles all in a row. There were thirty-four of them on both sides of the walls, evenly spaced out.

On either ends of the halls were entryways into other hallways- choices to turn left or right. She walked back from where she came and stared down that hallway.

_Fifty-five candles. _

_Twenty-seven on the right wall, twenty-eight on the left._

"Thirty-four, fifty-five," she muttered under her breath. "What does it mean? Thirty-four, fifty-five."

She ran down to the other end of the hall and counted.

"Eighty-nine," she whispered after a moment. "Eighty-nine, fifty-five, thirty-four. Same number of doors but the candles are different."

_But what did it mean? _

_Odd number, odd number, even number._

There was purpose there, writ large through the numbers of candles on the walls, but Ana didn't know what it meant or to what end it lead to. Logically, if she were to build a maze and use numbers as a message, the larger numbers would lead to the outside. It just made sense to her to begin with the smallest amount of something and work up to the largest.

"But I didn't build it," she said, touching her fingertips to her lips. "Not me, it was Eames. I don't think like Eames, Eames is an artist, he's creative. He-"

With a start, she realized that she was touching her mouth just like Eames did when he was anxious or deep in thought.

_Think like Eames. _

_Flash and wit and cleverness, all wrapped up and hidden behind masks._

"He's an artist but…" Ana closed her eyes, thinking back to the library. To _Eames'_ library. To his _studio._ The books, the art, the patterns in his work.

_Patterns._

Ana blinked and then let out a startled laugh.

_It can't be that simple, can it?_

"It's too obvious," she said, shaking her head at herself. "He'd come up with something more complicated, more complex."

But even as she spoke, she realized that wasn't necessarily true. Eames didn't take shortcuts, that much was fact. He wasn't lazy but he wouldn't make things needlessly difficult. And Eames was the kind of man who would take amusement from hiding in plain sight.

"Patterns," she said again, walking back to the hallway with only thirty-four candles. "Patterns and spirals."

If she were right, the larger numbers would only lead out to a larger maze, expanding until infinity- or at least whatever infinity their minds could create in the time they were given. If she had followed her own logic, she would have been walking for a very long time to nowhere.

Ana walked down the hallway, counting, and when she reached the end, she counted the candles in the other hallways and chose the one with twenty-one candles.

_The Fibonacci sequence_, she thought, shaking her head as she walked.

This was Eames' maze and it was meant to lead _in._

###

_And then there was one._

It was a small hallway, lit by only one candle, and terminating in a brick wall. Ana stared at it for a moment, uncertain.

Across the way was a door. It was larger than the others, made of dark wood and held together by iron bands.

Ana walked towards it slowly, noting the lack of keyhole or any other sort of lock. Instead of a doorknob, there was a ring on the side, meant to be pulled back instead of pushed forward. She reached out and put her hand on it, feeling the cool surface against her fingers.

She paused.

_What's inside?_

Ana drew back.

She'd found the center of the maze, she was sure of it, but now the fear came back. She didn't know what waited for her behind the door but now that the excitement of cracking the code of the maze, of finding the solution to the puzzle, was gone all that was left was dread.

"Arthur?" she called out weakly. There was no answer, though she hadn't really expected one. She couldn't help but try again. "Eames?"

_It will be instinctive; you'll know where we are._

But it hadn't worked. She wanted to see them. The desire to have both of them, or even just one, by her side was all she could think about and yet she hadn't found them.

There really was nothing left to do but open the door.

_Pull back instead of push forward._

_Go inward instead of outward._

Ana raised her chin and pulled back her shoulders.

_Nowhere to go but ahead._

One again she reached out for the ring but before she could touch it, the door creaked open.

Ana froze, stunned. Her mind went blank, wiped clean with terror. Without being conscious of it, she took a few steps back, ready to turn and run at a moment's notice.

_Calm down. Calm down and don't move._

_What do you see? _

_Details, _she told herself, _focus on the details._

There was light inside, bright and clean and different from the light of the candle. It was the light of the sun shining through a window.

_It could be the way out._

_(It could be a trap.)_

She forced that thought out of her mind. It wouldn't help her now; it would add to her fear and she didn't need any more distractions.

She forced herself to call out, "Hello?"

Her voice sounded odd, strangled and she licked her lips. "Is a-anyone… is anyone there?"

There was no answer.

She felt as if her heart were in her throat but she forced herself to take a step forward, and then another, and then another, until she was past the high arch of the doorway. She squinted, feeling the harsh light on her eyes, blinking until her vision cleared and she could see once again.

Ana frowned, looking around herself.

She was in a map room.

Large windows made up most of the far wall but Ana studied the room around her, eyes widening with surprise. All thoughts of escaping the castle disappeared as she took in the room.

It looked like the library of an old college, save for the windows. There were tables and chairs, and bookshelves and glass door cabinets that held a variety of items. It was a cluttered space, despite its expansive size- maps were littered over almost every surface. Some of them were rolled up and stacked into pyramids. Some of them were laid out on the tables, flat and colorful and filled with lines.

There were smaller tables with what looked to be topographies set in miniature, with little hills and valleys, mountains and rivers and lakes in scale. There were globes of all shapes and sizes and some of them hung down from the high ceiling like a child's model of the universe.

Ana walked farther inside, stepping carefully over piles of books and loose pages. She picked up a map, half opened like a scroll, and tilted her head to the side as she read the words at the top of the page.

_The woman at Ebenezer's Coffeehouse, May 23, 2002, 3:00 pm EST. _

It was a map… and yet it wasn't just a map.

_"You used to tell me that people were essentially topographies. You saw us all as maps. Every action and reaction was a destination, a road that led to some essential truth about a person."_

Arthur's words came back to her and she followed the lines of reasoning leading to deductions on the page. Ana put it down feeling a thrill run through her.

She walked to a table and scanned the various papers on it, excitement rushing through her veins now.

_The man walking down the street, turning left on 3__rd__ and Pike, February 12, 2010, 1:30 pm PST. _

_Mark Webber, suspect, surveillance on October 29, 2012, 4:42 pm EST._

They were all maps of _people_. Some of them were shorter than others, the lines incomplete and the colors faded with lack of care. Some maps were long, highly detailed affairs with vivid colors and writing so small she could barely read them.

It was all so_ fascinating._

Ana walked up to a set of scale models and leaned down, looking at the raises and dips and reading the tiny words on the surface.

…_just came from baseball practice, changed at school but his hands are still red from holding the bat and…_

…_keeping my birthday present under his bed because he knows I don't like dark places and won't try to steal it from there. Used mom's wrapping paper from Christmas because the tube was askew in the closet and…_

Ana let out a soft breath, realizing that she was reading about her brother. She straightened and looked down at the maps on the floor beside the model. She picked one up and realized they were about Matthew too, dated like the others but with much more detail.

She suddenly understood why she'd come to the room, why she'd been _led _to the room.

"I wasn't really looking for a way out," she said softly.

She had been looking for Arthur and Eames.

In a way, her mind had taken her to them.

"If part of me knows where they are in the dream, then it would be written on their maps," she said to herself, looking around her. "Because I'd be cataloguing them, even now. All I need to do is find them."

Ana took a step away from her brother's model and then stopped, hesitating.

She looked back.

_I could find out everything I wanted to know about him. Everything that Arthur and Eames couldn't or wouldn't tell me about him._

The truth was all laid out for her. All she had to do was look.

"I need to find Arthur and Eames," she said, frowning. "We have a job… we're here because…"

_You wanted to be whole again. _

_You wanted to remember._

"But it means nothing," she said out loud. "Just reading the words… I still don't remember anything. It's like reading a story, like…"

_But it's all here._

_All you have to do is…_

"It's not the same thing," she said. She knew she was talking to herself but it didn't matter really. She had to talk herself out of reading more about Matthew because Eames and Arthur were in her mind, because reading about her brother wasn't the same as _remembering_ him. She would still be an incomplete thing, only someone who looked like Ana Tremont but wasn't because-

…_Stay._

-because what harm would it do, really? Just to read a little further, just a few more lines. Maybe she could skip to the edges of the model, see what she was thinking when her brother died-

_Murdered._

-so that she could at least prepare herself when or _if_ she regained her memories. Really, she could read just a bit more and then find Arthur and Eames. Maybe they would even find her first. After all, it was Eames' maze- it would take him but a few short turns to get to her. Once they realized she was missing, they would find her. All she had to do was…

_Stay._

Ana decided to stay.

###

Arthur exhaled slowly, feeling relief wash over him. Through force of habit he patted down his sides, making sure he was armed, and looked up, satisified.

"At least we ended up in the right place," he said, feeling the dirt ground give slightly underfoot. The castle Eames had built for them was only a short walk away; they had woken up in a grassy clearing just outside, close enough to see the enormous arches that led to the interior.

"Lucky enough," Eames agreed. Arthur saw him touch his hip- just a slight movement of his hand, and knew that Eames had come armed as well. "Well, fair fortune favors the brave. We should go in now. No use standing around here as easy targets for whatever Ana's mind cooked up for us, no?"

He glanced back and grinned crookedly. "No offense, pet."

Ana shrugged, looking back at Eames and then at Arthur with a slight smile. A breeze ruffled her hair and for a moment, Arthur was struck by the way the sunlight hit her face. She looked better in the dream- healthier, stronger. Her cheeks were no longer sunken in and her eyes were bright.

_Must be her mind compensating, adjusting her appearance back to better times._

It was strange what the mind held on to but Arthur was glad to see Ana's smile again.

"None taken," Ana said. Her smile grew wider.

"I can't wait to get started."

###


	28. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Something's wrong."

Arthur stood from his crouch and rolled broken blades of grass between his fingers. They felt dry and thin despite their vibrant appearance. He let them fall and then looked around again, at the bright blue sky and the wild, green grass and then looked over at the castle in the distance.

Eames nodded at him and Arthur knew he had noticed it too.

"We've been going in circles, I think," he said finally. He looked at Ana and shook his head. "Have you noticed? We keep passing by the same landmarks."

They'd been walking for roughly ten minutes, seemingly towards the castle, but as far as Arthur could tell they'd made no progress. Finally he'd called a stop, wanting to study their surroundings for a moment.

"Arthur's right," Eames said, rubbing his mouth. He turned to Arthur but he was speaking to Ana. "It's probably a maze- a circular, physical space. We've not gotten anywhere since we entered the dream."

Ana looked from Arthur to Eames. "So what do you think we should do?" she asked.

"You really haven't noticed?" Arthur asked, looking at Ana carefully. "Nothing jumps out at you here? No odd sense?"

Ana shrugged, wide-eyed yet unworried, and turned away.

The truth was he'd expected her to be the first to bring it up; instead she'd been quiet and Arthur was worried that she was becoming distracted. Going into Ana's mind was always an odd experience. Things were sharper, brighter than in reality. It was as if her subconscious was on constant high alert, always noticing the little things that most people ignored or their minds automatically disregarded.

_It's how she sees the world, how she processes everything around her. _

It was why she was almost never the dreamer on their jobs and why she made such a bad architect- her mind added too many details. Arthur usually woke up from her mind with a headache.

Now he watched as Ana looked across the clearing. She hadn't asked any questions but it was clear she was aware of everything around them.

"Well, we don't know what the parameters of the maze is," Eames began thoughtfully, "but it's clear a straight line will get us nowhere. Ana, you're doing this on some level- you don't want us to reach our goal."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think that's it," he said. He gestured around them. "Look, she wanted us down here for a reason. She _wants_ us here but she's not going to make it easy for us. If we haven't made progress then it's a loop of some sort. At some point, we turn the corner and make our way back from where we came from, leading us nowhere fast. We need to break the cycle."

"And how would we go about doing that?" Ana asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

Arthur thought for a moment. To the south was a seemingly endless expanse of green field and behind him, the castle. If it were up to him, he would have set up a replicating set of spiral stairs, with each level moving up incrementally.

_But that's not what Ana would have done, _he thought, frustrated. He glanced at her and to his surprise, she seemed to be watching him closely, almost expectantly.

_Eagerly._

"I don't know yet," he said roughly. He stopped and drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. He was frustrated but Ana was Ana- she _believed_ in him so she probably wasn't even worried at all. "But I don't think we should go any farther until we figure this out."

"How much time do we have down here?" she asked.

Eames glanced at Arthur, giving him a sharp look. They had both decided earlier that Ana shouldn't know the specifics of the dream they were in- including how long they would be under. It was safer that way, and it would make whatever negative elements in Ana's subconscious wary of attacking them for fear of cutting short their time.

After all, Ana wanted Arthur to go down deeper into her mind. If they were killed too quickly, he wouldn't get the chance.

"We have plenty of time," Eames said, "but we need to wrap this up quickly. The sooner we get to the castle, the better. The space out here is wide open. We'll be able to see anything coming but-"

"But that means we're visible as well," Ana finished for him. She frowned thoughtfully, turning back to Arthur. "Do you have any theories, Arthur? How can we seemingly move forward and yet stay in the same place?"

Something about the question bothered him. Though her tone was mild, simply curious on the surface, there was an edge there that perhaps he was imagining. For a moment, he said nothing and stared back at her.

Ana really did look better in the dream; she was obviously healthier here, at least. She wore a simple sheath dress that he remembered from years ago. It had been one of his favorites, really- a blue that made her eyes seem almost gray in contrast.

Seeing her wearing it again, in _this_ dream, made him feel a fresh wave of guilt. She'd worn the shade of blue often, knowing he liked it.

_Those were better times, _he thought.

Appearances in dreams were telling- dreamers usually dreamed enhanced manifestations of themselves. While only forgers could truly alter their forms, other dreamers still had a degree of ability to change. The experts could change their clothing to adjust for the situation while those new to dream-share usually wore whatever the dreamer-

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

_Her hands._

Her hands were turned just so he could see the clean, unblemished skin of her palms.

Arthur felt a prickle of uncertainty touch him.

Ana was almost logical to a fault. It had taken Arthur a while to teach her how to enter a dream without incriminating tells; no matter how big or small, they had to be erased in a dream. Once, she'd broken her wrist before a job and he'd gone under with her for nearly a day in a dream, teaching her how to remove the injury from her appearance so she could move easily in the dream.

It had taken a long time because Ana's mind was so literal. She brought the real world into her dreams; it took a great deal of effort for her to let reality go.

_Enhanced manifestations._

_Like a better reflection of yourself. _

"Mirrors," Arthur muttered, lost in thought.

Ana blinked and then her mouth twitched up slightly. "What did you say?"

"Mirrors." He repeated it strongly this time and realized that that was the answer. "It's mirrors. Reflections."

Arthur felt excitement and relief rush through him and he said, "We're going around and around in a maze of mirrors. We're only seeing what's being reflected back at us- that's why we think we're moving forward but going nowhere."

Eames let out a mirthless laugh. "And it's moving with us, so we don't realize it. It's a flexible, moving loop. Clever girl. I'd almost admire it if it wasn't being used against us."

"Listen, I'm not sure this will work but maybe if you close your eyes, the walls of the maze will stop moving," Arthur said, ignoring Eames. It was a rough guess but worth a shot. He reached out for her hand, saying, "We're in your _mind_ but it's Eames' _dream_. If you're cut off visually, maybe-"

But Ana drew back from him with her unblemished palms held up. The air around her seemed to shift slightly and Arthur blinked, taken aback by the odd effect.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Eames tense and his own hand drifted to his hip almost unconsciously.

"Bravo, Arthur," Ana said. She clapped at him, shaking her head. "Really excellent work, Arthur. You picked this up much faster than I expected. I thought we'd have to walk around and around for at least an hour and what a waste that would be."

Arthur's blood ran cold as she dropped her arms to her side and stared at him. For a moment, her face seemed to blur, as if he were looking at her through ill-fitting lenses.

"Maybe you actually learned something, hm?" Ana said. Her mouth curled into a slow smile and her lips seemed to darken, the blur over her face growing heavier.

His head began to hurt just looking at her and he had to force himself to take a step forward.

"Ana, what-" he began but Eames drew in a sharp breath beside him.

"It's not her," Eames said. He sounded scared, his voice thick with revulsion. "_What_ _are you_?"

Before Arthur could react, he heard the loud, sharp sound of a weapon firing and he threw himself forward, trying to grab Ana's hand to pull her down, _away_. It was a reflexive action, one he didn't have to think about and he almost kicked Eames in the face when he felt the other man drag him away from her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Arthur yelled angrily. More shots rang out and he tried to rush forward once again, trying to reach Ana. He didn't know what was going on but he only knew that he had to get to her, to keep her safe.

He reached into his jacket, pulling his own gun out of its holster, but Eames stopped him. Arthur gritted his teeth and drew his arm back to strike when Eames pointed past him.

"He's aiming for her!" Eames said. "He's not shooting at us!"

It sounded as if the world was breaking apart around them and Arthur realized that _it really was._ Cracks began to form on the surface of things as more shots rang out and he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.

_Mirrors._

He felt splinters of glass hit his face but he brushed them off, searching wildly for Ana. She was away, too far from them and it was hard to see and-

_Oh God._

Ana… or whatever _it_ was now, stood still and quiet amidst the chaos around her, looking at Arthur.

His heart seemed to stutter.

She had _changed_.

She stood in rags, in tattered dirty clothing stained with gore and dirt and sweat and as he watched, blood dripped down the mangled canvas of her torso, visible through the rips in her shirt. Her shoulder was torn open and he could see the bullet wound, the ragged edges of her flesh wide and gaping, black and red.

She grinned at him and it was an awful thing, a horrific parody of joy. She looked back at him with a dark stare, the whites in her eyes nearly black with blood from her broken veins. One cheek was sunken in, the bones shattered beneath and a large gash beside her mouth gaped wider as her smile grew.

Her teeth were crimson-colored and sharp.

"Arthur," it said, smiling, "You see me now, don't you? You made me. You turned me into this."

"No," he moaned and as he watched a bullet ripped through her thigh. Another one pierced her chest and she staggered forward, holding her hands up to her new wounds. Still, she kept her gaze on him, smiling, smiling, _smiling_.

"I belong to you," it rasped. "You made me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He moved forward even though every part of him recoiled at the sight of her. He suddenly realized that he was on his hands and knees, that he was on the ground crawling towards her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so _fucking_ _sorry_." His voice sounded like a sob and he felt his eyes burn. He was crawling through glass, through broken shards of mirrors and he felt his hands and his knees slice open as he moved. "Ana, I'm so sorry, please."

From above him, like the voice of God or the Devil, he heard someone say-

"That's not my sister."

And then Ana collapsed like a broken doll thrown from a shelf as Matt Tremont lowered his gun. Arthur felt his stomach lurch as a pool of blood grew underneath the remains of Ana's… the _creature's_ head.

Matt looked at Arthur coldly. His eyes, almost the same shade as Ana's, were narrowed with disdain.

"But it was right about one thing. It does belong to you."

**###**

Ana laughed as her hands traveled over the valleys and hills of her brother's topography.

…_teasing me about my knobby knees but he's proud of me. He likes that I'm almost as tall as him now and…_

Matthew had been a good brother. Patient and kind, if not a little over-protective. He had helped her navigate through her teenage years, which apparently had been made of a dozen little dramas and heartbreaks. At seventeen, he'd been her hero and Ana had to wonder if she'd perhaps seen him through rose-colored lenses.

Arthur had been written into their lives, intertwined as deeply and irrevocably as if he'd been family. He featured heavily in her recollection of Matthew; at least in their early years.

_Matthew liked Arthur, _Ana mused as she stared down. _He knew, even then._

Perhaps she had read him wrong but it seemed Ana thought her brother had encouraged the… the _affection_ Arthur had for her. The way he'd leave them behind, together, alone. The way he'd smile and nod at Arthur when he thought Ana wasn't looking.

_But it will change,_ she thought, remembering Arthur's words. _Soon. _

Ana's eyes were wide as she absorbed everything about her brother she could.

She didn't notice that the light from the windows never changed, that the shadows in the room stayed static.

She didn't hear the sounds of shifting walls and hallways beyond the walls.

She didn't notice that the door had disappeared.

Ana's lips parted and her eyes glazed over, lost in the retelling of her own memories.

Ana read on.

**###**

"You must be Eames."

Matt looked away from Arthur, turning his back on the ruined body at his feet. Eames stood up, brushing off dirt and debris from his wrinkled clothing and nodded.

"And you're Ana's brother," he said. His voice was smooth and calm though he felt thrown off, shaken by the dead world around them and the dead body a few feet away.

_That's not her. _

The green grass, the blue sky… those had all been illusions. The world he'd created was gone, replaced by a bleak, dry landscape. Sand and dirt, skeletal trees and a gray, cloudy sky surrounded them.

Gone was the fairytale; in its place was a nightmare. The castle was a dark thing now. A place for ghosts. He knew then they were in over their heads. This was his dream but Ana was in control. The proof lay all around them.

"Pity we never met in person," Eames said, forcing his gaze away back towards the other man.

"That's wholly your fault," Matt said. "She did want me to meet you. Once. And then you proved yourself incapable of being trusted. My sister wasn't about to bring your mess into my life."

Eames pressed his lips together and then forced himself to laugh. "Are you always this tactful?"

Something, some indefinable emotion moved over Matt's face and he smiled slightly. "Were. Past tense. I'm dead, remember? I'm just a projection."

It came as a slap. Eames hadn't forgotten that Ana's brother was dead-

_I killed him._

-but to hear a projection clearly state awareness of itself was rare. It made him feel incredibly sad suddenly. Even in Ana's dream, in her mind, the death of her brother was at the forefront. It meant she didn't find reprieve from her pain, even in her fantasy.

"But I'm as close to myself as she can make me," Matt said with a shrug. "Who's to say though that I'm not really myself? Ana has such a good memory."

Before Eames could reply, Matt turned back towards Arthur, who had remained on his knees. His hands and his legs were bleeding but he'd remained on the broken pieces of mirror.

Almost against his will, Eames felt sorry for him. Arthur looked lost, completely and utterly broken. He'd never seen the other man look so open and Eames had to look away, feeling as if he were witnessing something too private.

"Oh, get up, Arthur," Matt said, sounding irritated.

Eames heard Arthur let out a shaky breath. "But she… she said…"

"That wasn't my sister and you know it," Matt snapped. He waved his hand at the body. "Pull yourself together, man. We need to move."

"You're going to help us, aren't you?" Eames said slowly, looking at Matt's face for confirmation. "Why?"

Matt tilted his head to the side, as if considering the question, and Eames was struck by the fact that he really did look like Ana. Perhaps his eyes were smaller, a shade darker, but aside from the obvious differences, there was no doubt that Matt and Ana were siblings. There was a similar grace to his features, an almost startling beauty.

_Or maybe she just loved him so much she built him up to be this way._

Matt looked almost hero-like, too perfect, too handsome to be real.

_We see the beauty in the people we love_, Eames thought, seeing Ana's face in his mind. _Or is it that they become so because we love them?_

Almost without being conscious of it, he looked at the still, broken body on the ground.

Matt looked up from Arthur, who was slowly getting to his feet, albeit shakily. He had open wounds on his knees and his hands but the bleeding had slowed down and Eames knew Arthur could stitch himself back together just fine.

"Why am I helping you?" Matt asked. He pointed to the castle. "My sister is in there; she's in trouble. I'm not helping _you_. I want Ana to be whole, I…"

He lowered his hand and sighed heavily. "I wouldn't want her to be like this. Split in half, I mean. I came into being because on some level she knows I would never want this kind of life for her. On some level, Ana understood that I would never approve of any of this."

It made sense to Eames. Ana clearly saw Matt as her protector and if there was any doubt in her own mind, no matter how small, that her actions were _wrong_ then Matt would become the personification of that doubt.

"The dead blessing," Arthur said. He was back on his feet and his face had become hard again, though still pale. Matt glanced back at him with a lifted eyebrow and Arthur stared back at him evenly. It was obvious that even Ana's projection of her brother disliked the other man. "That's what you are- Ana's dead blessing."

Arthur nodded down at the body. "And was that the living obstacle?"

Matt snorted, shaking his head.

"That? That didn't belong here at all," he said. He kicked the thing at its side and Eames winced.

_It's not her_, he reminded himself but he still felt uneasy.

"That was all you, Arthur," Matt said. "You brought her in. You're lucky it just wanted to play a little."

Eames didn't think it was possible but Arthur seemed to grow paler. To his credit though, he didn't flinch.

"My projection," Arthur said hoarsely. "That's why she… _it_ said… it belonged to me."

Matt nodded. His expression seemed to soften slightly, as if he pitied Arthur. Somehow that was worse than the contempt. "I don't think that's the first one we'll see either. This place isn't heavily populated. It makes it easier to know what belongs and what doesn't. I knew what it was the moment I saw it. I can _feel _more in here… hiding."

Matt made a face. "You're letting it haunt you. You've turned my sister into a ghost."

"Christ," Arthur muttered.

Eames rubbed his lips, feeling ill himself but he straightened and looked up at Matt.

"So where to now?"

Matt slowly turned back to Eames and raised his arm, pointing to the distance.

"We move forward," he said. "At least now we can see what's really ahead of us. First, we need to get through that."

Eames looked over his shoulder where Matt was pointing to. There, standing as if it had always been there, was a door.

"Do you know where that leads?" Eames asked. Matt opened his mouth and then looked at Arthur.

"Yes," he said, "and I think Arthur knows too. Don't you, kiddo?"

Arthur blinked, as if startled by the term of endearment and for a moment his face crumpled. But it disappeared quickly enough and he nodded.

He whispered a word and Eames shivered at the grim look in his eyes.

"Battlefield."

###

**Please read/review- thank you! **


End file.
